Rose and Gold
by Dayne
Summary: Left with a crown and a loveless marriage, Alistair is beginning to feel the strain two years after the blight. Now somebody wants him dead, and if he wants to stay alive he has to rely on the one person he has never trusted. Smut with plot. Another adventure in the world of Thedas where old companions must both rise and fall. Warning: Rated M for m/m smut and violence.
1. Chapter 1

** {Authors Note}**

***Ahem***

**Cock.**

**All right, now if that single word made you gasp and reach for your pen of rage, just skip this one eh? From experience, i grow bored of trolls who seem invariably outraged** **by things they can only find by _searching_ for them. This one is actually mild for me in comparison to some of my work. By all means dislike my work if you think its terrible writing, gods know im not Stephen king, but don't hate it because some words make you blush or shake your fist at the screen.**

**OK**** now that's out of the way, hi and thank you for taking the time to read, its been some time since i have gathered the courage to put my work in public again, writers block has been chewing my ass for a few years. I appreciate my Hiatus may have made me rusty and apologise to your eyes in the hope your imagination will make up for all the bits I missed. This little fic appeared out of nowhere. I have no idea if it will be a stand alone or a series, perhaps I'll see what people think. If you don't all try to ritually burn me at the stake for crimes against literacy, I may continue. **

**I don't have a proof reader at the moment and since I am definitely my own worst critic im not going to poke this story too much or I will chicken out and not publish. Volunteers for proof reading would be welcome, as would any critique that will be kind enough to break it to me gently.**

**As much as i may have just bashed my own writing, much as a lot of us do, i actually DO hope you enjoy this little piece and perhaps any more that might crawl into my brain on a whim.**

**Ever your faithful, smut ridden servant...**

**G.**

**x**

** Rose and Gold**

Alistair wrenched open the door and darted out into the carpeted, stone corridor, closing it seconds before something collided with the other side and shattered. He had seconds to feel relief for this narrow miss before yet another trinket exploded on the other side of the door and he hastily moved away, taking the corridor in long strides that clearly wasn't running away.

He was simply retreating to a tactical distance!

It was hard to maintain his dignity while walking half clothed and bare footed past a gallery of armed palace guards that were all clearly trying very hard not to laugh. Or at least to wait till he'd passed them to start sniggering. Some of them were loosing this battle and he almost felt a metaphorical tail trying to tuck between his legs as he heard the first soft sound of someone swallowing back a laugh, followed by a suppressed snort as the lack of control spread. What made matters worse, was that this little 'walk of shame' was likely just the effect that Anora had desired.

With no desire to pass a further assemblage of guards while feeling precisely 2 feet tall, Alistair detoured to the enclosed courtyard, this decision rewarding him with privacy and the heavy, fresh scent of roses gently seething in the night time heat. The grass was cooler at the soles of his feet and he curled bare toes into it to release some of the tension in his frame.

But his body would only relax so far and who could blame it? Yet again Anora had done her best to rile him up to the point where sense left him and he could forget for a moment that she was a cold, uncompromising shrew. He was male, still young and if she were persistent enough, the least intelligent part of his body would sit up and beg, at which point she would take great pleasure in grinding her foot right into his balls. Thankfully this was figurative. Anora might hate him and continuously attempt to emasculate him to the point of misery, but even she recognized that the 'kings jewels' might well be required in the arduous, and frankly cringe-worthy task of conceiving a child.

No. What she did to his pride made a pointy heel to his delicates, look like a day trip to the Wonders of Thedas. Not for the first time into the second year of his marriage, Alistair found himself cursing the hero of Ferelden for his blue balls and bruised pride.

He doubted that Loucas Cousland would care to shoulder the blame for either infliction, but it had been the commanding words of his fellow warden that had placed the crown upon his head and sealed his fate with the harridan currently occupying his bed. Oh the intentions had been noble of course, but noble intentions didn't compensate for the fact that he had to repeatedly attempt to stick 'little Alistair' into what was essentially a bear trap lined with ice.

He had never wanted to be king. He distinctly remembered several points being made to underline this fact. He'd even considered an informative puppet show just to make sure they all understood that his wearing a crown would be a terrible plan. Yet here he was with a kingdom at his feet and a wife with daggers at his back. The whole situation was ludicrous, and only in the midst of a blight could it have been pulled off. Only in the midst of the blight could his sense of duty ever cloud his common sense enough for him to agree to the decision. His pride and strength bolstered by the confidence bestowed upon him, while the rest of him curled up in a corner of his mind and chewed on its knuckles while waiting for the penny to drop.

The marriage had been arranged and performed swiftly, just two days after the Arch Demon's defeat, Loghain's body not yet buried and the seed of hate already planted within Anora. He'd known the moment he looked into her eyes after their first reluctant, awkward kiss at the altar of the half collapsed Chantry. Her fathers enforced sacrifice at the top of the tower was not going to go unpunished.

Alistair had gone to his marriage bed virginal, chaste and more than a little unprepared, which was a perfect foundation for his new wife to lay out her slow and agonizing revenge. She belittled, scolded, embarrassed and shamed him in the privacy of their chambers, turning an already _dreadful_ scenario into something that made him shudder with revulsion, incompetence and shame. These were private tortures, the hell she shaped for him hers alone to gloat over, but every now and then she would let _everyone _see that she alone could grasp the reigns to the throne and _tug!_

The tentative erection she had coaxed out of him had now withered, leaving him feeling as empty and useless as he always did upon leaving her graces. Since standing in the middle of the Royal garden with his shirt half mast and his pants only half buttoned might well raise more questions than his hasty retreat from the royal chambers, he crossed the gardens to one of its more secluded corners. Sat amidst a tangle of Hydrangea bushes and lit softly with hanging oil lamps, the stone gazebo was almost hidden from sight. It was said that Maric had commissioned it built it for his queen and it had grown weathered with its age. Alistair had found it one of the very few places in the castle where he could be alone and had ordered small items of comfortable furniture to be placed there. He might well be a king hiding in his own castle, but Maker damn it he would be a comfortable one.

After falling onto what they told him was a 'chaise lounge' he spent 5 minutes rearranging himself on what he had renamed 'fancy bench I'll never fit on', until eventually he settled and tipped his head on the cushion to cast his gaze above him where tall trees suspended a canopy that hid most of the night sky. His gaze fell upon two stars that shone brightly enough to penetrate thick, dark leaves. He watched them blur as he let his eyes loose focus. He tried to do the same with his brain, usually easy enough do, incredibly easy when cheese was in the vicinity. But every time he had almost settled in the quiet, scented darkness he heard the ghost of that snigger and his brow would furrow, his gaze shifting to find a new point to drift from.

"Tell me you're Majesty; is it customary for kings of Ferelden to sleep in their gardens like unbroken Mabari?"

Alistair managed to jump about a foot while still laying down, a feat that he might have felt impressive if his voice hadn't done something incredibly girly he never wanted it to do again. He squinted and the two stars he had been staring at blinked at him allowing Zevran's form, crouched in the low hanging branches, to come into focus.

"Makers itchy left testicle….what are you doing sitting up a tree…in MY tree. Wait don't I have guards who are supposed to spot this sort of thing!"

He watched a smirk grow on the elf's lips, a blade of a smile that exposed his teeth and reflected the light momentarily before hands grasped the branch between his planted feet. Falling back the elf managed to twist at the right moment, showing dexterity that Alistair could never hope to manage with all his bulk. Zevran made such things look obscenely easy whereas the king of Ferelden often tripped over his own royal garments if he wasn't paying attention.

Landing lightly with both feet on the ground the assassin shook his head with a small tut.

"Alistair, _Mi querido_, if your guards could spot me I would be a poor imitation of a crow would I not?"

The Antivan held up his hands to show they were empty, but that meant little to Alistair after he'd already seen some of the places this man hid his weapons. Of all the people he might wish to never see him while he was licking the wounds of his injured pride, Zevran was certainly somewhere near the top of the list. The two men had never exactly gotten along, or more accurately, Alistair took an instant dislike to the man who had attempted to inhume both he and Cousland, whereas Zevran had simply taken a great delight in teasing, taunting and generally being the second biggest pain in his backside next to the apostate witch. Even after all the fighting they had done side by side and despite the fact that both had likely saved the others lives on more than one occasion, Alistair had simply never been comfortable around the Antivan. The man always seemed able to pin point the one thing that would make him want to cringe himself into a hole in the ground, before hounding him relentlessly with it. Now, watching that familiar, lazy smirk form on the Antivan's face, Alistair had to wonder with a faint dismay, exactly how long the sneaky bastard had been hiding in the tree, how much he had heard, and how much of a verbal wringing he was about to get.

"Is there a point to you lurking in my garden or are you just here because you missed my never ending supply of Templar anecdotes and cheese? You do realise most people who invade the royal palace uninvited usually get hung?" He spoke with a resigned weariness that he didn't even bother to hide, his threat not in the slightest bit serious, though perhaps he could have the man put in stocks for his own amusement. Scratch that. The consummate perv would probably thank him for a good time.

The blonde gave a wistful sigh and pressed his shoulder to one of the carved stone pillars supporting the gazebo,

"Ah, but life has lost its dangerous spark ever since your troublesome Archdemon was dispatched. Climbing over your walls and avoiding your alert guards was a mere thrill to whet my appetite, surely you would not deny an old friend such indulgences"

Alistair snorted and looked away from that grin, hating Zevran just that little bit more for his freedom.

"The only problem with your indulgences Arainai is that most of them can have you arrested, shot full of arrows, or chased by angry mabari, and I'm still not sure I want to know what you did to cause the last one"

The blonde shrugged such a small gesture and yet Alistair noted, even that small roll of shoulders was made to look…appealing. Did he do it on purpose or was he truly unaware that he was one giant walking innuendo?

"Ah your Majesty, such distrust and _venom_ on your tongue still. Or do I bear the ire meant for your…._charming_ queen. I had hoped to perhaps give you my congratulations at long last, I missed the wedding. However it seems that a bucket of ice and some bandages might have been a better plan, no?"

Alistair managed to both narrow his eyes and flush darkly, his eyes flickering to the tower windows that were, of course…open. How much had the elf heard, and how much was he going to use it like a cat that paws at an injured bird. For fun.

Zevran simply lifted a brow and promptly flopped onto the floor beside the chaise, stretching out his legs and looking perfectly at ease, while Alistair shifted uncomfortably and pulled his shirt closed with one hand, not even aware he was doing it until the Antivan chuckled. It was a thick and generous sound with a subtle hint of darkness licking at its edges. He quieted and simply watched the templar with a steady golden gaze that Alistair could feel on him as he tried to shift into a sitting position on the ridiculous piece of furniture.

"I know precisely who you are your Majesty. There is not a man or woman in Thedas that does not know your name my blushing King. In fact I am thinking that the only one who has yet to realise who you are….is you"

Alistair drew in a breath to retort, perhaps to call such a notion preposterous. But the Elf was now looking at him in a way very few people did. He was used to people rolling their eyes when he said something that made him sound naïve. He was starting to get used to the way people looked at him as king. But he still hadn't gotten used to that long and unblinking stare from the Antivan. It had disturbed him back then, when he had felt it boring into him from the other side of the campfire, a stare that would be highlighted by flickering orange light whenever the weight of it became too much and his own eyes had risked the quickest of glances. He was not surprised that it still disturbed him now and he forced himself to stop fidgeting at least.

He lowered his gaze and sounded petulant when he spoke, already knowing that the former Crow always seemed to see more than anybody else. Perhaps that was why the man found it so easy to tease.

"That's a stupid thing to say. Of course I know who I am. I'm the one who has to put on the crown and look at people like I'm paying attention when what I'm really doing is falling asleep with my eyes open and wishing they would go away"

It was the first time Alistair had released even the smallest bit of bitterness in sight of another and he found it slightly easier to breathe. Alistair might not have liked the man or trusted him, but somehow Zevran invited the truth from many unexpected sources. He had seen it happen countless times when travelling with a man, should it really surprise him that the man hadn't changed much no matter how little he might like it?

The elf didn't exactly pry when it came to some matters, but every now and then he found the right switch in someone, a place to insert the hook. At which point he would begin to subtly push, and pull….and perhaps _tug_. He had seen it, had felt it, and yet he still hadn't worked out how the little sod did it.

"No king would allow himself to be chased from his own home by that _loba. _She holds you with guilt"

The elf could also deliver his words with the force of a gentle slap. There was no lilting flirting tone to the Antivan's voice now, and the customary curve of his smile was gone. Aside from calling the man's wife a she-wolf, he had just insulted the Queen. Alistair could well have his head cut off. However nobody could travel with Alistair for any length of time and not note the man's heart. Like him or dislike him, he would not have one of his former companions executed. He couldn't even kill a spider in his tent for the Makers sake.

Alistair simply stared at the Antivan. He didn't understand the word Zevran had spoken. In fact he would spend three days after this night, trying to find someone to translate it. But the tone was unmistakable, and after a long moment of silence the Warden King's lips twitched and he bowed his head as a soft snigger he'd been trying to contain, escaped. The Assassin's grin grew again and he relaxed against the chaise apparently confident he would be allowed to keep his head on this occasion.

The snigger was still there when Alistair spoke again, lifting his gaze with a reluctant half smile

. "All right she is a….whatever that word meant. But you all knew that.." The grin faded to a frown and he picked up a thread from one of cushions, tugging at it thoughtfully. It was strange and sudden, Zevran seemed to have swooped in at the very moment when he found it impossible not to finally voice how incredibly whiny he felt. He knew it sounded childish, and he winced inwardly, but he needed to get it out, and was it likely the assassin would take offence? Probably not, Zevran seemed to grab life by its tail as it passed by, taking offence tended to waste valuable mischief making time.

"You all knew I didn't want it. Yet here I am. I have a crown, royal armour polished until I can see my face in it! I have 200 guardsmen, 12 cooks. There's people to buy my clothes, people to arrange my meetings, 3 carriages on standby should I wish to visit the market. I have 10 advisor's 6 court mage's, 8 diplomats, 30 cleaning staff. Oh and don't forget the 2 gardeners, the food tasters and 1 old man who's function I haven't discovered, yet he always seems to be here. And there isn't a single person in this castle who can speak to me without looking at their feet. Or in the case of my wife…looking daggers"

It was like Alistair had been holding a breath for two years now, and once he began to exhale, he didn't seem able to stop. Zevran assisted of course, this time by not saying a single word to interrupt him, he merely kept up that steady stare. He knew Alistair had always had trouble meeting his eyes for long. He was likely not used to such close scrutiny when they met, and this hadn't changed. When Alistair looked to the elf as if for his interjection, Zevran would simply continue to stare until the other man began to speak again if only for something else to do rather than meet those eyes.

For an hour or more Alistair spoke without interruption, only requiring a few prompts from those unmoving, golden eyes before he naturally fell into he steady rhythm of his grievances. He wanted to know how his life could have been so easily decided for him. He had joined the Wardens, had given them his oath and he had meant it. Duncan's death only made him mean it all the more. But now he was trapped here, only a token of the Wardens, a mascot perhaps. He would never doubt their hearts or their loyalty, but he was apart from them now, and in a way, depleted as they had been, the hero of Ferelden and those that stood with him, had felt like family to him.

"Though I think you're the distant cousin nobody invites over for dinner…or maybe the aunt that always pinches your cheeks when she see's you" he said as he finally flopped back down onto the chaise, promptly sitting up again as the arm rest dug into his back.

For once Zevran refrained from the obvious joke concerning the pinching of cheeks. He was still staring, but that air of potential mischief that seemed to surround him like an aura had gone. In its place was an expression that was more calculating, and slightly more honest than Alistair was used to. If anything it made him want to squirm on the spot all the more and he simply didn't know why!

"Ahhh your Majesty, you were swept in the wake of someone who would lead. You were lost no? Yet here was this man, ready to lead, ready to convince you that depleted as you were, the Wardens _could_ do their duty against the blight. Such passion, such drive, always bringing danger, always victorious in battles…..who could ever resist following a man such as that my friend?" He raised a significant brow and watched until the meaning behind his last words finally dawned on the human King's face. He nodded and softened his expression further.

"Si, I too was dragged along in the storm he brewed. Admittedly I clung to his coat tails so I could cling to my neck to begin with. But the chance for treasure, dragon killing and saving an entire country….well an adventurous Antivan would be laughed out of his stylish boots if he passed on such a thing. Not to mention I had ample opportunity to visit my wiles upon a young, would-be-king. A worthy brag for any man, Antivan or Ferelden"

Zevran was rewarded by a thinning of the warden-king's lips and a renewed touch of scarlet in his cheeks. He flashed a brief, corrupting smile before becoming serious once more.

"Never did I believe that I would find myself feeling….indebted to him. It is a bitter pill for one such as me to swallow, never have I liked the concept of owing another. Yet….here I am"

The assassin spread his hands and shrugged while Alistair looked as though he was chewing on one of many thoughts.

"It would be incredibly easy to hate him if he wasn't such a noble and selfless bastard really wouldn't it?" He sighed and the half grin returned. He already felt cleaned out in some way, dare he say that the assassin was even likeable when he wasn't using yours truly as the butt of his jokes.

"Ah but of course my King, he exacerbates the insult by being immensely honest, charming and generally likeable. The fiend! But I understand your meaning. If we can hate another for our misfortunes, perhaps we need not change them. That is so much harder to do when you cannot find a form for your anger is it not?"

The subtle words were not lost on Alistair and he nodded without thinking about it before withdrawing his gaze again and hastily changing the subject. "Would you stop calling me that please, it sounds stupid coming from you"

"Calling you what my King?"

"That…..'my King, your Majesty', you've seen me run away screaming like a girl from a hoard of angry bee's before, I imagine we're past those formalities when not in public"

Zevran's smile grew and he turned a hip to the cushions, propping his head up on a hand, elbow resting on the chaise. His eyes had not lost their unrelenting quality, but the stare now had something glinting behind it. He was quite happy to exchange the heartfelt discussion to a new game apparently.

"And what would you prefer me to call you? If you recall, the last time I offered to cry out your name in a tent you went red and threw a cheese knife at me, ever since then I thought such formal tones were necessary my dear Alistair" A sinuous purr crawled lazily around his words and it caused Alistair to palm his face.

"Stop that. It's not funny any more!"

Zevran feigned curiosity and tilted his head. "I am puzzled as to your meaning my friend. What is it I am doing that so disturbs you?"

Alistair waved his hand in the elf's general direction, "That. Stop doing all….that"

The amusement was bright and clear in the assassin's voice, "You just pointed to all of me. Should I be offended now?"

Alistair gave a frustrated growl into his palm and forced himself to look up despite knowing that his face could be used as a camp fire right now.

"You always want me to feel uncomfortable. I'm not sure why, maybe I remind you of someone who used to take your toys when you were a child. Either way I end up blushing and looking like a fool while you stand off to one side grinning. I have no idea why you picked me for this particular torture, but it'd be nice if you didn't….you know, make me look even more of an idiot than I feel. We both know I'm neither the man nor woman of your dreams. I'm just this fuzzy ball on a string you sometimes give to cats to paw at when you're bored"

Zevran almost laughed and cheered at the same time but managed to keep it inside long enough to gain all the composure he needed to speak.

"Firstly my dear Alistair, that was a terrible analogy. Secondly…you appear to be under the mistaken impression that I tease you because i…..wish to make you appear a fool"

"Oh come on its obvious!"

"Perhaps only to those who are blind my friend. Now hush. After such a statement I must at least be afforded the opportunity to answer. Is that not how your 'Diplomacy' works here?" The assassin uncurled from his lazy position, sliding up onto one knee, and somehow he was now only a foot away from the human. "While it is true that I do _love_ to watch your cheeks glow, I tease you for one reason only" The smile widened until the glint of teeth could be glimpsed between faintly parted lips. "I have teased you for all this time because that first blush caused me to lust after this impressive, if inexperienced form. If I could provoke such reaction to your face, what wonders would await me if I could get you alone in your tent?" His face dropped in mock sadness and Alistair now looked slightly concussed. "Sadly it seems that all my efforts were believed to be the work of a mocking saboteur to your pride. Tch. I almost _am_ offended now. Such wasted efforts upon my wiles"

There were words. Alistair knew there were words. He just wasn't able to locate them in his head and he suspected his tongue wasn't going to be much assistance either. He kept looking up at the elf and opening his mouth, then it would close again and he would look somewhere else. Eventually when no response that he could articulate came, he let the easy explanation fall into place and he half laughed and half frowned. It was easy to see that both were forced.

"Well, that one was more elaborate than the rest. And extremely convincing, I might even have to applaud. So where is the audience who are meant to be pointing and laughing right now, and do I get cheese for being a good sport?"

Zevran's grin did not fade, though he shook his head slowly. "Ah, wrong again my dear Warden, I speak the truth. And I do so to see…even now…if one day you might succumb"

A deep frown on the young warden's brow as his eyes narrowed, "You're _lying_ Zevran. Any minute now someone's going to jump out of the bushes just so you have a witness at how incredibly gullible I am"

The purr now drenched his rich, exotic accent and Zevran dared to lean forward, causing a 1 foot gap to shrink to inches, enough that Alistair would feel the warm rush of spoken breath against his jaw.

"Would you care for me to prove it Alistair? I feel as though my honour is in question. That will not do"

What Alistair really wanted to do right now, more than anything, was to crawl over the back of the chaise and dive through the bushes and just….keep…running. Because he wasn't good at this game, and he wasn't sure he could deal with more humiliation tonight. However kings didn't run away from…..well ok they might well run away from assassins, but probably not because they were being lewd.

"Don't you ever give up? Exactly how long do you think you can stretch this joke before you just start looking…wait...what are you doing?"

The suspicion in his voice was warranted this time for Zevran had shifted further from his original position. Alistair blinked as the man half crouched over the chaise lounge, hands gripping the back and armrest, effectively caging the taller man in. If Alistair wanted to escape he would have to move the elf bodily.

"I am once again offering to prove my honesty Alistair. I never lie when it comes to perusing such a prize" With the way Zevran's eyes tilted down, it was clear that in this case he meant Alistair which prompted a deeper frown from the man and he gripped an armoured waist in an attempt to pry the assassin from above him. The Antivan did not appear to be willing however and he showed a surprising strength or perhaps just bull-headed determination as he maintained his grip on the chaise.

"Oho! So eager to get to grips already, perhaps I misjudged your naivety?"

This caused Alistair's hands to react as though they were touching hot metal, releasing him immediately while the former Templar's face grew steadily darker in hue "Get off me you idiot"

Zevran did the opposite. Instead he chose to do what his current pose had been threatening for the last minute or so. Letting his body drop, the assassin was suddenly straddling the one below him. It was a snug fit, and a movement of the Antivan's hips made sure it was even more so.

"I think not. All your protests and accusations of falsehood have rather hurt my usually resilient feelings. If nothing else I believe reparations are due"

There were more protests lined up on Alistair's tongue as it finally began to dawn on him that Zevran, despite how he'd managed to convince himself otherwise, was utterly serious. Suddenly that piercing, golden stare wasn't just unnerving. It made him feel as if he were already stripped as bare as he could be. The elf impassively watched as Alistair attempted to draw the words from his tongue, and then apparently decided not to give the man further opportunity. Not, at least, until he had his say.

Copper skinned hands grasped a flaming face and soft warmth swallowed those protests with a numbness that stole away everything from the reluctant king but that firm press and the strange sensation of fine hair tickling his cheeks. There was no movement for a few seconds, just that foreign mouth melded to his. Alistair's mind had no frame of reference that would allow it to be of any help in this situation, it had in fact, treacherously deserted him. The idea of simply pushing Zevran away did not seem to have even occurred to him though surely it would once the shock wore off.

Perhaps the Antivan sensed this impending ejection after the few seconds he had stolen, for he chose now to bite lightly on the Alistair's lower lip, causing a gasp from the other man that opened the barrier of lips and allowed the wet warmth of a tongue to slip between their defences. The Warden King jerked in his prone position and his hands flailed with the indecision as to where was safest to put them. One finally settled on the wide leather strap that held the Elf's weapons at his back, the other flopping loosely over the edge of the chaise, fist clenched. He might later blame disorientation, but that first glide of tongue against his own had caused a deep tug in his belly and it became the most natural thing in world for his own mouth to follow clumsily as Zevran continued to plunder it with very little notion of hurry.

This was….this was like nothing he had experienced. Nothing that had occurred between he and Anora could ever have prepared him for anything like this. The woman had turned something as simple as a kiss, into another battlefield where both of them had to fight past their obvious loathing of the other to reach their goal. This was easy, this felt utterly natural and when the elf purred into his inexpert mouth he found further surprise…and perhaps a little shame…when he felt himself harden almost instantly. A roll of hips from Zevran caused him to finally wrench his mouth away with a startled cry and told him that the Antivan had both noted and appreciated his bodies compliment to his skills.

Staring down at Alistair flushed face and unfocused eyes with something of a triumphant expression, Zevran seemed to make a decision, and moved in for the kill.

Rolling his hips again he was rewarded with another startled gasp and an involuntary flex from the man beneath him. He bent over Alistair again, his mouth finding an ear this time, sucking the lobe between lips and only relenting with a soft purr when he felt that large body tremble underneath him. "This….is your truth my King"

The word was whispered with some amount of force coupled with a firmer grind of Zevran's hips and hands that had flailed now suddenly gripped the Antivans thighs as if that single strap hadn't been enough for Alistair to steady himself.

"You are no mere stand in for a dead king. No mascot to an order you swore your oath to" The elf thrust a hand between them and grasped the growing bulge that was quickly putting a strain on the fine stitching of linen pants. The hand squeezed and the Antivan was lifted as Alistair strained to raise his hips into that touch.

"You are the **KING** of Ferelden and neither man nor vicious shrew can cow you unless you _allow_ them to do so" The words were slightly muffled now as Zevran sought to attack Alistair's shoulders and throat with that quick, devastating mouth and tongue, still firmly grinding palm and hips against the heavy, growing length, still so very trapped in tight confines.

Somehow Alistair managed to gather enough breath from lungs that seemed ill suited for retaining air at the moment. His focus kept wavering in and out with every advance of the Antivan's expertise.

"Zevran…this is…" But whether Alistair meant to halt them both with words or praise the sensations currently running uncontrolled through his body, it was quickly silenced by the Antivan as he flipped the open shirt aside and bore down on a nipple with a voraciousness that bordered on alarming, or would have if Alistair hadn't become completely unravelled at this point.

There was no coldness here, no sense of shame and no tiny part of his mind waiting for the inevitable onslaught from his partner. In fact there was very little of anything but the growing need in his cock and the feeling that all his blood now carried the heated fire passed on by the Antivans hand and a mouth that pulled and sucked at the small nub of flesh insistently, bringing tiny, desperate sounds from parted lips.

It felt _so_ damn good and Maker help him he wanted more. He was still young, perhaps approaching his prime and his body was impatient for all of this. So long he had been denied, the secret of this heat and friction hidden from him. Skilled fingers tugged at lacing and he felt linen loosen at his hips moments before the elf's warm hand plunged beneath the material and spilled fingers over his nearly solid length. If there had been a protest left on Alistair's lips it was lost forever when those fingers found him, curling possessively around his girth, freeing the twitching, weeping length with a gentle squeeze…_Maker!_

Was this what it was supposed to be like? This uncontrolled sense of falling and burning rolled into one. His body wanted to push, writhe, grasp and pretty soon it was doing so of its own accord, or so Alistair would later believed, for nothing had ever aroused so much passion in the man to have him suddenly grip the elf's ass and turn them.

The movement was awkward and not particularly smooth, but the relief in being able to thrust down into that warm hand that now stroked him to a slow rhythm was undeniable and his upper body arched with it. Zevran was looking up at the man whose body shook above his, those golden eyes now blazing, his smile carrying a hard edge of satisfaction and his own body was caught up in the former Templar's youthful frenzy.

"Yeesss" the Antivan rasped. He could see the revelation in Alistair's slackened face, in the way those powerful arms quivered, hands convulsing, digging fingertips into his flesh. "Do you feel it now my Warden King? You are not broken, not shamed. You are….magnificent" The words were fierce and perhaps a little theatrical again, but if anybody needed cheering on in this moment it was Alistair.

The delicate, expensive furniture creaked beneath them as strong hips began to realise a goal. Magnificent Alistair might have been, but release had been a denied or disappointing experience up until now, and never had he felt its urgency roaring through him with as much power as it did now, causing hips to take on a frantic movement, linen parted enough that the soft flesh between hip and groin could be seen flexing with the strain.

Nothing could have prepared him for the Antivans sudden shift and bend of his armored frame, he would not have believed the flexibility the elf possessed. But such musings didn't matter, in fact everything ceased to matter in the moment the tip of his cock kissed the warm velvet of lips that parted around him and enveloped the swollen head, entrapping it in moist _heat_!

A hand had already braced at his hip to stop that instinctual surge forwards, only allowing him shallow thrusts. This time his groan was loud, unrestrained and full of longing as the elf began to use his tongue, fluttering movements accompanied by a firm pressure of lips that made him want to bury himself in that mouth and thrust wildly. The thought alone ripped another harsh sound from his throat, and looking slightly distressed Alistair half twisted his upper body and pressed his mouth hard into the crook of his arm before he could bring the guards running out here.

At some point the thought of how exposed they were might have made him balk, but it was too late. He was on the brink of something that was threatening to make him slip from his own skin and spill him on the floor. That mouth….oh that mouth. Never had he experienced a heat that seemed _so_ alive, so _wet_! With circling tongue and stroking fingers Zevran was building that heat to something beyond a fever. He finally chanced a look down the length of his body, held aloft by his own straining arms….

….it was a sight he would never forget. That mouth that had quipped, joked and bantered him to death on many occasions, now wrapped around the head of his cock, the thick flesh shifting between them with each of his shallow thrusts. Sensing his gaze, those golden eyes now tipped up to his and it was this, coupled by those lips opening to display agile tongue toying with him, which finally ended it for the already stretched nerves and strained body.

Alistair could only suppose that Zevran had noted some sort of signal, for hands left his hips quite suddenly, all of Alistair's need surging forward, and finally…blessedly he was able to sink himself deeper into that warmth. He couldn't think on the elf's possible discomfort, not now, not on this precipice. His hips were jerking fitfully and at some point he had wound shaking fingers into blonde hair as his cock seemed to swell impossibly moments before that ultimate rush blinded him to anything but the wonder of feeling himself come apart, un-tethered. He spilled into Zevran's mouth and gripped the flesh of his own arm desperately with his teeth to muffle the ragged scream that shocked him almost as much as his climax.

Only when he felt that tongue move against his twitching flesh again, did he remember the man beneath him and lead limbed and shaking as he was, he made as if to pull away from the Antivan, amazed to find his body tingling and numb, cock still pulsing and sending tiny aftershocks into his belly causing hips to writhe, out of his control.

But that hand had returned to his hip, once again keeping him in place, his cock finally allowed to slip free from that devastating warmth. "Shhhh…stay _mi dulce_. We are hardly done yet" To dazed to do anything but comply with the Antivan's guiding hand, Alistair found himself sitting up on the chaise lounge, moments before Zevran slid into his lap, straddling him while wearing that blazing, triumphant look in his eyes, his smile vaguely shark like.

Once again Alistair was at a loss as to where to put his hands, and Zevran decided to solve this dilemma for him. Wrists were grasped gently and once more his large hands were to be found clutching an ass that…well, seemed made for just that. Their faces were level now and Alistair found for once that he _couldn't _break it, even when the Antivan tilted his head and ran the warm silk of his tongue over a shining lower lip.

"You taste...divine" Zevran purred, a hungry edge growing to his smile as Alistair, despite this illuminating experience, flushed anew.

"Zevran this is…"

"Not over" The elf finished firmly. He now moved so that lips were a breath away, and tiny movements stirred the air between them. "There is so much….more to show you" There was no resisting the mouth that fell on his again. This time his mouth yielded and opened without prompting and yet again, that first touch of tongue caused a jerk in his belly that agreed whole heartedly with Zevran's declaration.

A roll of strong, lithe hips..

_Sweet Andraste!…_

A curl of tongue that coaxed his to give chase…

_Help me!_

No…This was not over…

_I want more…_

**~~~~oO0 0Oo~~~~**

**Just an additional note that after a few comments and faves i have decided to continue this story. Whether that means just a second part or a longer running series im not sure. Either way, part 2 shall be coming to you soon...**


	2. Chapter 2

**After some feedback from friends and reviewers alike, I decided to progress this story to the point that I have already outlined a hesitant plot and a few chapters. I like to write smut but I'm also a fan of smut with content. You might notice that my version of Zevran is slightly colder than usual. This is down to a wish for a more developed character and I appreciate that perhaps some of you might not be able to relate to him. However I follow wherever my brain goes, like a happy smut-kitten chasing a butterfly.**

**Please Enjoy**

**Your boy-smut goblin servant**

**G**

**Rose & Gold**

_I want more….._

He had been allowed to finally wash himself free of the blood and filth that streaked his skin, though of course they wouldn't allow him near the small stream unaccompanied. The taller of the two Wardens had already voiced his opinion that the Assassin would not be able to resist the temptation of escape. None of them had disagreed with him though none had volunteered for the duty and so it was left to the mistrusting warden to guide him and stand watch. It was something of a relief to get out from under the heavy weight of their eyes, a weight he was certain that he'd feel for many days to come yet, and perhaps he could not precisely blame them. In truth, if it had simply been two Wardens he would be doing exactly what they all suspected he might, slipping off the moment the opportunity presented itself, only returning to open their throats in casual silence.

But the information he'd received from Loghain was apparently out dated.

The apostate witch seemed to find him and his entire situation amusing, but he'd seen the shapes she had adopted in battle, knew she could move almost as fast as her lightening and he had no desire to be run down by a giant spider…there wasn't a boot in Thedas big enough. The Orlesian spy seemed soft and almost harmless if he hadn't watched several of his men fall under her marksmanship. Running while feeling the constant potential for one of her arrows finding its mark between his shoulder blades was also, not a comfortable thought.

The Qunari would probably smear him into the rock if he so much as coughed at the wrong moment, and the walking boulder had already told him in a pleasantly conversational tone that it _never _slept.

Surprisingly it was the old mage that had unnerved him most. She had healed his wounds without question or comment to Cousland when he asked, yet she had watched him all the while, with eyes that seemed to peel away layer after layer of the Crow until he found himself uncomfortable under that gaze. Any of his standard quips about where the mage was placing her hands, had subtly died on his tongue.

The Wardens themselves had been…well it was safe to say that Loghain had sorely underestimated them both in their ability to fight tooth and nail, and their aptitude in gaining the loyalty…grudging in some cases he had noted… of a strange but none the less powerful group of individuals. Together this diverse band of individuals had overrun his little ambush, making it prudent to cry mercy and hand himself over. The bodies of the thugs he'd hired were a visceral reminder of the unpleasant alternative.

Alistair had been the loudest in his protests when Cousland had accepted his offer, and from then onwards he had felt that solid dislike radiating from the man who now stood sentinel at the lake while the Antivan rid himself of all the grime. Zevran would quickly learn in the following months that neither of the Wardens could sneak up on a deaf man with his head under water, and so he heard the faint movement of plate mail moments before he felt the cold tickle of steel touch delicately to the back of his neck.

The silence was suddenly stretched out and for a few seconds he was almost certain that any moment now the blade would be shoved forward and twisted to quickly sever his spinal chord.

"I don't like you. I don't like that you're here and I certainly don't like the fact that you managed to talk him around so easily, but I suppose right now _any_ ally looks good in the face of what's coming. You tried to kill us, and we only have _your_ word that you're here because failure means death to your people. That doesn't really inspire much confidence Arainai, and neither does your convenient little oath. In fact it makes matters more suspicious because I don't think you would give up on your order so easily. Sooner or later it's going to become far too tempting to finish the job"

Zevran remained silent, Alistair had obviously been waiting to give this speech, and in truth he couldn't even convince himself that he hadn't already considered salvaging this mission, much less convince the man who could turn him into a skewered steak if he sneezed at the wrong moment.

"He'll want to trust you and he'll want to give you a chance because he's too bloody noble for his own good. Personally I don't trust you as far as Wynne could throw you, but for better or worse he's gotten us this far and I _do_ trust him. So here's your one and only warning; if you so much as give a dirty look at the wrong moment you're gone. No deals, no wriggling your way out of it. You'll be sent back to the Crows in a box…a small box. So any plans for escape, any schemes involving poison and our food supply…any temptation to crawl into somebody's tent with a dagger…leave them here. The best you can hope for now is that you might die with some dignity while fighting for something other than a bag of coin. If you put a toe out of line…"

Here the warden's voice hesitated and Zevran would have dearly loved to turn and see why, but in retrospect a blade to the back of his neck and _any_ movement, sudden or otherwise might lead to him holding his head in his lap.

"…..I...I'll drop you down the deepest, darkest darkspawn hole I can find. I think you'll find they aren't so open to negotiation"

The conviction in the warden's voice wasn't as genuine as it had been a few moments ago, Zevran rather getting the impression that a man like Alistair just wasn't used to intimidation, at least not the sort of intimidation that involved throwing someone to slaughter…interesting.

"Are you listening…?"

He considered simply continuing to wash and ignoring the man just to see what he would do next, but since he already had a blade pointed at him, 'next' might well involve something slightly more terminal than a slap on the wrist. Zevran stood very slowly, pleased to feel the tip of the sword move away from that vulnerable spot. He turned and was rewarded with the satisfying expression of horror and embarrassment on the Wardens face, his eyes quickly tilting upwards, that previously threatening sword now hanging loose and impotent at his side.

Clearly full frontal nudity was not something the Warden was accustomed to, and for a fleeting moment Zevran almost felt like saying "Boo" just to see if the idiot would drop the sword. As it was, he could have grabbed the thing out of the man's hand shoved it beneath the shelf of his jaw and disappeared off into the tree line while Alistair was still resolutely conserving his modesty ….where of course, naked and unarmed he'd probably have just enough time to step into one of the Orlesian's neatly placed bear traps before the damnable mutt found him and dragged him back.

"You have made yourself perfectly clear warden, I shall refrain from the temptation of giving a reason to serve me up to my masters or indeed your darkspawn, on a platter. Perhaps you could return my clothes…unless of course you have a reason for forcing me to stand naked and dripping before you?"

His answer was a deeply crimson flush that probably had little to do with embarrassment and more to do with a desire to drown him in the stream. His armour and underclothes were thrown to him over the short distance, Alistair trying to avert his eyes and keep an eye on the assassin at the same time.

It was all very amusing to watch as he dressed himself without any real hurry, noting that the more clothing he put on, the less childish and embarrassed the warden became until finally the man could look at him without resembling a beetroot. Zevran was tempted to unlace his fly again just to see If the man would run away…he doubted such a move would be well received however and consigned himself to being led back to camp.

_I want more…_

Zevran had felt drunk the moment he'd been allowed to slip beneath the barriers of Alistair's defences to ply him with that first kiss. He'd done it with an intent that was utterly selfish, and like a child who has finally managed to lay hands on his father's crossbow, Zevran loathed to relinquish his hold on this new and likely dangerous toy. Watching Alistair come apart like a chantry virgin was more satisfying than he could have imagined, but to his greedy heart it just wasn't enough, and here the man was, climax dazed and still susceptible to the assassin's whims if he pushed, pulled and coaxed in _just_ the right way.

Despite his assurances and woven words, the Antivan cared very little for Alistair's tale of misery. That he happened to have found him in such a state of turmoil had been sheer luck, and as always Zevran had seen his chance and leapt upon it. He'd succeeded in one of his life's ambitions with merely an understanding ear and sympathetic words...it was almost disappointing after all his efforts in the previous years.

Yet here he was, feet tap dancing on the tightrope of his own nerve and sheer audacity, his cock rigid and insistent within its confines, and the king of Ferelden between his tensed thighs. It was delicious when you thought about it…you couldn't get much more forbidden without a revered mother and a handful of darkspawn.

"Zevran this is…"

_Oh no, no you don't my timid monarch…._

"Not over" he countered and before the charmingly befuddled dolt could raise a further protest he'd captured the murmuring lips he'd robbed of their first true passion, far too preoccupied with how far he could undo his most fervent of moral adversaries to let the man get away now.

"There is so much…more to show you"

The hesitant, tentative movements of a cold fish so desperately out of water delighted him. That he had stolen away Alistair's common sense along for the ride simply enchanted him further, and nothing short of a battalion of guards dragging him away was likely to prevent him from seeing how far he could take this. While full lips pressed their soft advantage and delivered his agile tongue to corrode the man's already shaky resolve, his eyes could not help but tilt upwards to the tower, to its open window and the light that burned within the room beyond. Oh but for the simple curiosity of Ferelden's Queen and Alistair's first little foray into adultery might well have had an even more volatile outcome.

His attention was called to focus once more when Alistair made a small sound in the back of his throat, fingers tightening on the Antivan's backside, the delicate apprehensive touches of tongue melting in a wave of heat that the devious Crow was stoking with his own mouth. How long he could keep this man enraptured was anybodies guess, Zevran was hardly counting the seconds, but he could already sense the give in the Alistair's apprehension once more. The way that untrained mouth slowly ascended past awkward hesitance, to be lured into the boundaries of actual passion that had him biting fitfully and perhaps a little to exuberantly at the Antivan's lower lip while tortured little sounds hit all the marks they needed to within the emboldened assassin.

Zevran didn't require a past history with the man to know that such music from his lips was likely to be a rarity he could prize alongside the discovery of Andraste's ashes…a whole lot more satisfying too.

Calm, soft and attentive he built the Warden-Kings novice like desire with tiny touches to that bared throat and shoulders, fingertips light as a breeze, skipping over toned flesh like a musician who seeks the sweetest of notes from his instrument, Alistair responding beautifully with small sounds and pent up breath which the Antivan swallowed while his mouth did the work of temporarily undoing all of the Queens previous endeavours. She'd stamped her mark well on the haplessly courageous Warden, he could almost bring himself to congratulate her.

A twitch against the apex of his own inner thigh alerted him to the fact that Alistair's youth could still be counted upon to provide the man with enough stamina and eagerness to make Zevran wonder how many times he could make this man unravel in one night. The restless kneading of his own backside told him that soon the man would be in _just_ the right suggestive state for the assassin to lead him down any path he might choose, within reason of course.

He pulled away, satisfied to hear the tiniest whimper of protest as he looked down upon Ferelden's king. He was all half lidded eyes and kiss bruised lips, dishevelled clothing and heaving chest…would he _always_ be this easy to bring to the boil, or was Anora even more talented in her tortures than he first thought…how long had this malleable creature been denied?

Had he not been looking for it, he may well have missed the cold apprehension creeping into hazel eyes, an expected reaction for any man being led down this particular path of discovery. The fact that it was Zevran who was bringing him there honestly made the assassin wonder how in the fade he was getting away with it in the first place, or it would do in retrospect, when he wasn't quiet so occupied.

Whether the former Warden meant to forestall him with words or simply that uneasy glance, Zevran leapt right back into the fray before word or thought could fully articulate itself. A soft undulation of his hips was all it took, enough to graze the thin fabric of tight undershorts against the bared flesh of the larger man's sex, enough for them both to feel the blended heat…and quite enough for Alistair's eyes to close with a low exclamation. He plucked away one of the hands now warming his rear, and bringing it to his lips he let the shaking fingertips tease over his bowed upper lip, dragging it down to the sumptuous swell of the lower before his tongue tasted just one digit with a quick flicker, the ghostlike wetness just a reminder of what the Antivan could do give enough leeway.

"Touch me.." A soft command that none the less made his inexpert partner open his eyes with an expression that might best have been described as, 'Dog expecting a kick'

"I wouldn't…..i mean…." An uncomfortable shift and drop of the eyes that Zevran didn't like one bit, just _how_ cowed did that damnable wench have him?

Though he had listened to the Wardens tirade as a simple means to this truly delightful end, he had borne Alistair no sympathy. How could a king bemoan his fate, did the man not know the power he wielded? Aside from a faint feeling of disgust at the man's weakness he had very little opinion on the matter, despite his well meaning words which were full of the usual carefully crafted platitudes and lies that led to getting what he wanted. But to see that expression on any man, not the least a man who he had seen crush darkspawn beneath his uncoordinated boots, should ever wear an expression like that. It reminded him of those very early years, when the orphans looked up from their stinking pallets with that same expression…had he not worn it himself?

It had no business being here, certainly not now.

Zevran was quick to understand that this would have to be dealt with using some measure of patience, not something he would bother with if it were not for the fact that he was already feeling a heady sense of power here. He had evoked something in the other man that no other had been able to, of that much he was certain. Alistair seemed too full of wonder in the face of it all for him to have experienced something quite like this.

For once he was wishing that his armour hadn't been necessary and the fleeting thought of _why_ he had come here tried to needle at his conscience, only for him to shrug it away, he had plenty of time and nothing could distract him from such a quarry as the nervous, shy king before him, not when the man's own heated arousal pressed against the warmth of his bare thigh.

A gentle yet insistent hand took Alistair's, so much larger than his own, its own calluses softened over the last couple of years, and Zevran had to wonder how long it had been since the man had last held a sword. Fingers interlaced with fingers, and leading him like a blind man, the Antivan guided his unexpected prize, sliding both hands beneath the plated leather skirting to rest on the warmth of his inner thigh.

"Like this…Alistair" His words fell to the Warden King's ear in a heated whisper as he bent his head to taste its rounded arch with a light caress of his tongue. "Feel the warmth…do you feel my skin tremor ever so slightly beneath your fingers?" His mouth took to the flushed bend of neck and shoulders, the skin tasting faintly of something that would only ever be associated with the first flush of the man who sat beneath him so wide eyed and slack mouthed with wonder. He sucked upon salt sweet flesh while his hand guided onward to the very apex of his thigh, fingers brushing the edge of the thin undershorts until a jerk of his own hand forced Alistair's to settle over the growing heat of his cock. "It is always so much more intense here…the heat. This is what _you_ have done to me my King. It is _your_ body, _your_ touch that fills me with this heat"

He allowed his body the freedom to write, and his own fingers slipped away as he bit into a bared shoulder, smiling in triumph around the flesh as he felt that larger hand convulse and then _grasp_ him through thin fabric. Caring very little for the guards or anybody else who might observe them, caught in his own selfish mind space, Zevran allowed his mouth to fall open in a groan of appreciation against wet skin.

"Si…..do you see how easy it can be? More _mi querido…_i want to show you more"

He felt the moments hesitation and lifted his head to look at the man again, warding off his own impatience, carefully taking in that expression, Alistair's eyes still cast aside in uncertainty. Fingers lifted a strong chin and brought that gaze up to meet his own "What is it you are afraid of?"

The warden king choked a strangled laugh and attempted to pull his head way, "That is….another bloody stupid question given the circumstances…"

Gently tilting fingers now grasped the man's slightly stubble roughened jaw, compelling Alistair's gaze to remain on his own, that sharp sense of power casing him to twitch against the hand still curled around him. "You know what I mean Alistair…Your concern was exceptionally limited while I had you in my mouth. Why do you fear to touch me…..tell me" His grip softened as he chose to nip and pull gently at the warden king's lips, "Tell me.."

He heard the first words struggling with awkward anxiety in Alistair's throat, and it wasn't until a hushed _"Please" _ was murmured against his mouth, that they finally spilled out in a rush.

"I just….I'm worried that I'll do something…wrong. In fact the truth is I'm terrified and don't you _dare_ laugh Arainai, not now"

The Antivan sat up again, his thumb playing over lips set in a stubborn line that wasn't at all convincing for all that they were alluring. He didn't bother to articulate that laughing was the very last thing that was on his mind right now. There was something about the vulnerability that lay beneath all of Alistair's foolishness that had always attracted him. To see it in it's rawest form exited him in a way that felt both dark and wonderful in equal measures. His hand slid away from Alistair's face and joined its twin beneath his armour. Thumbs hooked into shorts and he wriggled them down enough to free his aching flesh, his hand now reclaiming its link with the former warden's, wrapping them both around his cock, making him shudder before his whole body became still for a few moments.

"We both know how good I made you feel, experience the pleasure of seeing what you can do to my body…." He lifted their curled hands in a long stroke along his length, "I am not this aroused simply by chance, you excite me, I desire more…_Please" _To some, it might have seemed that the Antivan's begging was strangely submissive. But like everything in this encounter, he served his own needs, even if such a thing required that he had become this man's unlikely teacher. Alistair feared ineptitude that was a fallacy imposed upon him from someone only wishing to perform a petty cruelty. He had yet to experience the stimulating rush of watching somebody captured by pleasure from his own body, his own touch.

Perhaps it was the please, or perhaps it was the undeniable truth that lay in a solid line of warmth against their hands. Zevran's hand was pulled away carefully until only Alistair held him now, those hesitant fingers coming to a resolution and curling around him firmly. The assassin closed his eyes with a long sigh and let his head fall back. He could feel the warden king's eyes upon his face and obliged by allowing the man to gauge his reaction freely without the concern of having his own uncertain curiosity observed.

Obliging was easy when Alistair's fledgling confidence allowed him to draw his hand in a slow rhythm over flesh that seemed to suddenly ache enough to throb. So distracted in having this desire come to fruition, his need had almost been faint background noise, but once he was free to indulge it had roared back into life, perhaps compounded by the knowledge of _whose_ hand now played along the length of his cock, those hesitant strokes becoming firmer once the first moan parted the Antivan's lips. An answering rock of the hips drove him upward into that firm pressure until the warden king was gripping him tightly at the base. Hands came to rest on broad shoulders as slowly, they began to build a tempo between them, Alistair stroking him with a building conviction that allowed him to once again cup a hand against the assassin's rear. Zevran for his part had to hold back from being truly shameless in this somewhat invigorating pleasure, it had been a long time since his own body had been so invested in another's mounting confidence. It thrilled him and it was hard work keeping his thrusts into that stroking hand to a polite minimum.

Not so reserved was his voice. He allowed his pleasure to guide the man below him with sigh's that trembled on his lips, moans that mingled with a low purr when fingers _squeezed_, and when a thumb passed over the engorged tip of his sex, all the air in his lungs left him in a hoarse, unchecked growl.

Whatever Zevran had been trying to get through to the warden king seemed to click into place, triggered by that sudden and unplanned sound from the assassin and the savage sensation of conquest hit him hard when fingers spilled beneath the hem of shorts and gripped his ass, pulling him upwards, drawing the elf up onto his knees.

He didn't protest, he couldn't have protested even if he had wanted to. Hard as he had been in this beautiful fool's hand, it was nothing in comparison to the raging ache that took him when lips first brushed their hesitant touch to the swollen head of his cock. His hips gave an involuntary jerk and he forced them back, wanting this far too much to scare Alistair away from his bold action. His exertion of will was rewarded when hot breath found him again, moments before a tentative sweep of tongue almost undid him there and then.

"Sweet Maker …I have long ached to feel this…do not stop, you are finally…_ah!..._You are finally seeing the truth Alistair" Once again the warden king seemed emboldened by the Antivan's pleasure and Zevran was repaid by lips that pressed to the weeping tip, tongue daring to taste at its own leisure while that untrained mouth softly sucked. Alistair was still being so very careful, but between the small sounds the man made in the back of his throat and the way both hands were now kneading his ass firmly, the Antivan could sense the humans own growing sense of need and urgency to his current task.

"Yes...do not hesitate…you have no idea what it is that you do to me my king…"

Perhaps he might have had time balk slightly at his own unfettered words. But two things happened at once. Alistair's suddenly confidant mouth took him in just enough to make his words end in another growling moan, and ears trained and constantly on alert for certain sounds suddenly twitched when the silken chime of a blade leaving a sheathe pierced the sound of his own heated pleasure.

Instinct was perhaps the only thing stronger than desire when it came to the Antivan and his will to stay alive. He didn't hesitate or bother to second guess himself. Pulling away from Alistair he rocked back before throwing his full weight against the former warden and the chaise. The whole thing rocked, tilted and then fell back with a crash, spilling them both onto the stone floor moments before something thudded into the antique wooden base. The falling chaise had also managed to upset a delicate wrought iron table that fell with a ringing crash and Zevran had to act quickly even as limbs attempted to untangle themselves. Ducking low behind the fallen furniture, his hands went to the other man's untied leathers, Alistair pushing his hands away with a wildly confused expression.

"What in the fade do you think you're doing Zevran, you could have…" The elf silenced him with a glare and resumed his task, tucking the man back into his pants, nimble fingers retying lacing quickly.

"Quiet" His whisper was fierce, head tilted as if listening for something. He didn't have to wait long, the sound of hurrying armoured feet from within the palace already drawing close. "You have an assassin in your garden"

Alistair's eyes narrowed, "I'm well aware of that, I happen to be looking at him."

"_Estupido…_I did not mean….Somebody has sent a crow to you…I heard word of the contract last night, but my source was incorrect, the order was given much earlier, I thought I had more _time…"_

Hazel eyes grew wide and then narrowed further, Alistair rising up on his knees and bringing the elf with him as strong hands curled into the straps of his armour and hauled him up.

"You knew there were assassins coming to kill me and you waited to tell me?" he shook the Antivan roughly, "Are you actually that insane as to endanger everyone in this castle for…..for…..MAKERS BALLS…you…you are UNBELIEVABLE"

Zevran snarled and for a second the anger drained from Alistair's face before he was hauled back down behind the safety of their makeshift cover, just moments before an arrow passed over the space the king's unprotected head had been a scant few seconds ago. They rolled and Zevran forced his way on top, pressing his forearm to the man's broad chest to stop him from getting up again.

People now filled the gardens, the heavy sound of armoured men predominant amongst mingled, urgent cries.

"Your Majesty!"

"Spread out…find him!"

"Intruders…up on the west wall, archers…fire!"

The hurried steps were getting closer, and in the distance arrows clattered with stone walls as the guards pursued the assassins. Meanwhile Alistair struggled beneath his attempt to pin him, clearly still angry to the point that Zevran had to duck to avoid a punch that would probably have still hurt for all the kings' recent soft living. He restrained the arm, hissing at the man in frustration.

"Stay here you fool, I do not know how many they have sent, and your guards could miss one!"

Suddenly he was being hauled back, several pairs of hands grasping his arms and shoulders, pulling him onto his feet as more guards crowded around the fallen king, helping him up while questions filled the crowded space of the hidden hideaway. He forced himself not to struggle as they began to drag him away, golden eyes searching between the press of bodies until they found Alistair's. There was a fleeting second, a hint of something in hazel eyes that made him believe the man might consider letting his guards take him away, the anger still fresh enough to cloud features that just moments ago had looked upon him with such fascinated heat.

"You need me Alistair" There was only a faint hint of an edge to those words and then suddenly the side of his face exploded with pain as an armoured fist came out of nowhere.

"You will not speak to the king in such a manner knife-ear, you'll be lucky if we're merciful enough just to take your head from your shoulders!" Beyond bright pain there was more confusion as yet more guards arrived, restraining a struggling woman between them.

"Your majesty…we found this one heading to your chambers…"

"What!.."

"The queen is shaken but safe sir, we have called the day watch into duty, and their mobilizing into the city now, the rest of them won't get far"

Zevran hissed as a hand gripped him by the hair and forced him to his knees in front of the woman who stopped struggling to glare at him.

"Well assassin, is this one of yours, a flock of crows are you?" When he didn't immediately answer, a fist was raised again, only to stop short of delivering another blow by a hand that settled firmly over armoured wrist. Alistair's voice was cold and measured when he spoke, and when Zevran looked up he saw that the king and the violent guard were now almost nose to nose.

"Captain, give this guard his months pay and then get him away from here, I don't need men like him guarding my back" The fist was thrust away and that cool gaze was switched to the kneeling elf. "He is not here to harm me, and nobody is to harm him. However I want him in one of the bedrooms under constant guard until I'm ready to deal with him. Treat him as a guest…but a guest you will watch like a hawk until I say otherwise"

Zevran bristled at the suggestion but wisely kept his silence, he was surrounded by too many unfriendly faces to be in the position to argue.

"Have the woman taken to the cellars, I assume you have a means of restraining her?"

The tall guard captain nodded, "Yes sire, there are still cell's down there"

"See to it. I must go see my…wife" There was just a trace of a resigned wariness in the man's voice and Zevran did not envy him that particular visit. However he didn't have time to think upon this much as he was pulled to his feet again. The hands on him now were not so rough yet they remained firm as they turned the Antivan and guided him away from the King.

He allowed himself to be led away and was resolved to wait anywhere that they placed him. Leaving was never on the cards, he had promised Loucas that as the best person to deal with it, he would see to this threat personally. What the Warden Commander would think of his spontaneous deception Zevran didn't want to think on. The only way to salvage the situation would be to find the source of the crows contract. Letting the guards guide him where they wished, Zevran began to prepare himself for a lengthy wait.

**~~~~oO0 0Oo~~~~**

**And thus the plot was born. Part 3 will follow as soon as inspiration grips me and pushes my face into the screen!**


	3. Chapter 3

**So I decided to challenge myself with this third chapter, perhaps to test my resolve in actually continuing the story. I do actually have something of a plot to go with this series now, however I'm well known for loosing conviction part way through…So keep the comments, even **_**helpful**_** criticisms coming.**

**The first challenge I started without realising and just went with it. I wanted to see how well I could describe a scene in which the character couldn't see. Once I realised what I was doing it became harder but I think I might have gotten it down ok.**

**Secondly this scene has barely any smut at all. Le gasp! As much as I enjoy the man-smut, if I am actually going to make this a series It probably shouldn't be cocks at dawn every episode or things just get boring. You know the old saying, too much of a good thing and all that.**

**Anyway, read away and judge as ye must!**

**Your faithful boy-smut pedlar**

**G**

**Rose & Gold**

"_Join us."_

"_We bear a sacred burden.."_

With it's great leering eye it see's him and roars its displeasure at the fleeting touch of his mind…so small against its own_._

"_Join us in the shadows where we stay vigilant"_

The malevolence, it reeks of its own desire to destroy, mindlessly and with so terrible a hunger.

"_It is the Hubris of men..."_

Perfect, undiluted horror, it grips him in the midst of long fall through his own conscious, grips him and holds him there while he become's a single point of focus for a mind that could swat his own like a troublesome fly. It see's him now, knows him now….and all he can feel is horror and it's almost negligible disdain.

It see's him…

"_And so the golden city is blackened…"_

…and he is weak…

**~~~~o0O0o~~~~**

He woke with a start and choked on the cool velvet darkness that shrouded everything from his eyes and pressed upon him with heavy, searching fingers. Never had he experienced such undeniable blackness, it stole his breath and made perspective a fools errand. He felt the roughness of rock against his cheek, radiating with a chill that soon went to the bone, and once he felt it, his body shook with it, disturbing an untold number of injuries upon his person. He writhed there in the dark, voice clogging his throat and escaping in choked gasps that echoed back from every angle while he scrabbled at the rock as though its surface could provide a hand hold against the sudden agony.

Eventually he stilled, willing the pain to do the same, waiting it out until the screaming in pierced nerve and broken bone dissipated to a continuous whimper. The silence, almost as thick as the darkness, whispered an ominous and somehow large truth into his straining ears.

Alone….he was completely alone.

There was no voice to tell him that he _must_ stand, that he _must_ bear the pain and the crushing dark. No hand grasped his and helped him to his feet, and no command drove him there as it had done countless times when his courage wished to desert him. He was a child again, standing before the yawning doors of the chantry that sought to swallow his fate while Eamon's grave face turned away.

In this darkling silence, he was alone, and very, very afraid.

A hand struck out into that dark, reaching for something, anything that was tangible beyond the black, fingers walking stiffly over unfamiliar ground. Numb and shaking they skated over yet more rock, something dry enough to turn to dust at his touch and then finally…

…What he touched now lent him no additional sanity but made him recoil in skin crawling shock, awakening his body's various misfortunes, turning that low whimper of nerve and bone to a symphonic howl that made bright spots behind his eyes imprint themselves upon the dark. The arm had been cold, boneless in it's movement and unattached from its rightful place, and once his mind had filled in these details he found himself biting down on his own knuckles to stifle the scream that wanted to rise up like bile from his throat. He could not…_must_ not scream in this place, to do so would drive him to madness as a hundred disembodied voices screamed back with endless echoes.

He could smell it now, the sweet, ripe reek of flesh left to rot, mingling with the copper taint of blood and the foul ichors that could only be associated with the darkspawn. The stink that had escaped him in his awakening confusion was thick enough to taste on his tongue and the urge to retch clenched at his stomach.

How deeply had they taken him? All he could remember was complete chaos combined with pain and the sense of being borne along by hundreds of cruel, grasping hands. He tried to move again, pushing himself with his good arm to at least roll onto his back, the other was surely broken and he let out a thin moan as splintered ends of bone grated against each other in response to his movement. He had no sooner fallen onto his back with a pained gasp when his whole body went rigid with revulsion. The unmistakable form of a body, trapped halfway beneath his own, had him rolling away a good few feet, pain forgotten as repulsion steered him over slippery rock. His hand struck out once more to steady himself, fingers sinking into a cold jelly like substance, the sensation travelling up his arm and the length of his spine, like the march of a thousand insects over his skin. More pain as his teeth clamped own upon his own tongue, half crawling back, now having to truly fight the scream that was surging forward.

Panic had set its rat like teeth into his spine and now he battled with it tooth and nail, aware that if he allowed the dread any further hold upon him, he would likely die alone and screaming in this tomb. He did not wish to die here, after all that he had been through, dying here would be one last pitiful, cruel joke, and that was no way for a warden to die. He would not have his end come while shrieking in the dark.

Ugly sounds came from behind his lips as he swallowed down the urge to give voice to his fear, closing his eyes despite the dark while he willed away the image of the bodies that surrounded him, provided by his own inventive mind. Desperately he cast his mind out like a net, grasping for a single thought that might take him away from this place for as long as it took him to collect his wits.

The fight came to him in a series of flashes at first, and Alistair bore down upon this thought, trapping it much like a fish in a net, wrestling with its fleeting nature until his memory seemed to come into focus, the darkness and smell of death fading to something remote.

They were already exhausted when they finally emerged from the elven tombs, intent only upon returning to the Dalish camp to ensure that Zathrian's sacrifice had broken the curse upon its people. There had been many small injuries among them and spells were almost drained, but they had survived with no further casualties, and perhaps their small triumph had won them a few seconds of not quite being on their full guard.

It had been a rough ambush, inelegant and making use of brute force and sheer numbers. They had descended upon the weary band like crows to a charnel field. Oghren and Sten had been buried under the sheer weight of bodies that had pressed in on them while the three women were in the middle of a circle they had carved with spells and Lelianna's bow. While the space between them and the darkspawn had already started to shrink, he'd been knocked down by the press of bodies. It had been like running into a wall, the air filled with clamouring snarls as hands and weapons descended to batter his prone form as it struggled amidst the forest of bodies until they began to drag him away.

Had they survived? All he could do was hope to the Maker that Loucas remained alive at the very least.

Half the perpetual weight of all that they must accomplish still sat firmly on his shoulders as it had done the moment he saw the darkspawn's axe fall in Ostagar. Every time doubt or fear had attempted to plague him on this long journey, he had needed to only remember that view from the Tower of Ishtal, that one memory serving to reinforce the knowledge that his mentor's death should not have been in vain, nor could he allow it to remain a shameless and hidden act in the heat of battle.

Hate was perhaps the meanest of emotions from which to draw comfort and strength, but that burning point of knowledge had had secretly fuelled much of what he had accomplished since Ostagar, and only the watchful eye of Wynne and Loucas' dedicated nature had kept him from allowing it to become his _only_ driving point. But down here in this foul smelling tomb he invited the emotion with all the hot power it brought with it. He welcomed it with an open door and clutched it to himself like an old friend while it chased back the worst of the sharp toothed panic, chased it back like a pack of dogs until it the fear could only paw at his skin, still relentless but manageable. He knew that sooner or later this thin barrier would crumble, he was hurt and still afraid, but perhaps he could use it just enough so that he didn't die down here on his back, at the very least he did not wish for his body to fall with the rest that lay here.

With Loghain's face held before him like a grim beacon, Alistair rolled onto his knees and planted his good hand onto the bare rock, even this small movement caused silvery flashes of pain, mostly from his arm though he hurt in a dozen other places, some of which he probably couldn't even name.

_How long had he been planning. Was it an idea that had gripped him even as the darkspawn revealed their numbers and charged the field in Ostagar?..._

He swallowed hard and tried to hold his useless arm as still as possible as he moved forward across the stone floor, forcing his hand to press on ahead of him over the gritty surface. Any minute now he knew he might touch something that would burst the thin aura of his hate, but he needed to find an edge…a wall or something to start from, he simply couldn't bring himself to stand and just blindly walk forward. Alistair felt no shame in this fear. It was both too large and full of too many horrific pitfalls and outcomes that he doubted that any man or woman would have been unaffected down here. Fingers skated over more of that cool, jelly like substance, and when it bled sickly between his fingers his own breath tried to retreat back down his throat to his lungs.

_Had it all been about Cailan? Had Duncan's death merely been a negligible by product of Loghain's plans? A footnote…a faint chalk mark next to a far grander crime?_

Perhaps forcing his hand to press on was the hardest thing Alistair did while down here in the fathomless black, every inch seeming a mile. With his body following that shaking hand like an unwilling dog he made slow progress but kept moving. There were tense moments when he came across another body part, or found the stench becoming thicker as it announced a larger pile of silent, grinning corpses. Even behind his current shield he imagined their eyes upon him, and while their bodies were cold those eyes would surely be hot with malevolence. They would watch him struggle towards his goal, waiting for that perfect moment when it seemed he might succeed, and then…then their hands would find him….

_He murdered them all with a broken promise and now he runs from the truth, throws assassins and false words at it_ …

After perhaps a thousand years or more his fingers blunted against more rock, a wall…an honest to Maker wall, slick with slime mold and sharp against his palm in some places. As a beacon of hope it barely made a spark, but it was the only progress he had down here and he would gladly take it over simply laying there and wondering what it would be like to die so utterly lost from his own world. They all took the ground beneath their feet for granted, and every king believed that their rule went right down to the soil. But down here was a world all of its own, and the space between here and above ground might as well have been thousands of miles. There was simply something undeniably _alien_ about the place.

Carefully he began to inch his way up the wall, managing to stand up without his knees going out from under him. His hand slid further up to test the height of the wall when they brushed against something he first mistook to be another dead hand. The anger left him as terror flooded his brain in an icy deluge. The digits that brushed his were smaller, toes rather than fingers. And when he felt them brush back and forth over his frozen fingers he could suddenly hear the minute creak of rope.

Somewhere in this desperate dark, someone had taken the time to hang one of the corpses on the rock wall, like a grotesque piece of art. It spoke of the madness that plagued those to whom this violent world belonged.

He was breathing hard and fast now, the air exhaled from his nose while his mouth was occupied with concealing a dozen sounds that each wanted to desperately articulate his mounting fear again. Despite the cold he could already feel sweat beading his skin as he tried to force his body to move forward, collapse…do anything other than freezing in this one spot while dead toes continued to brush almost lazily against his fingertips. There was no anger to shield him now, it had fled from the fresh wave of debilitating fear and wouldn't return at his call.

What finally got his leaden feet moving was the distant shriek and snarl of many creatures, the slightest of tremors in the ground speaking of hurrying feet. The sound was familiar enough to him that it cut right through panic and its companion fear. It touched that spot at the back of his brain, the place where ancient instincts waited. Those instincts now told his feet to move, and for a wonder he obeyed, his hand gliding along the wall as he half shuffled as quickly as he dared around the edge of this dark space.

Only now did it occur to him to wonder where his armour, shield and sword had gone, without them he was as vulnerable as he was likely to be even without being blind and broken. It wasn't a question of cowardice. He just wasn't ready to die. If he was gifted the luxury of ending his days as a veteran warden he would gladly enter the cage of the Deeproads and die fighting. But if they found him now, defenceless and disorientated, it would be a mean death, pointless and unknown down here in these depths.

As he followed the path marked out by his searching hand, he found more bodies. Some were hung and some he almost tripped over, trod on or even..slipped in. There was a tense few minutes when he came up against a pile of the corpses, blocking his progress along the wall. He stood there with cold sweat running into his eyes, his breathing shallow as though he feared too much nose might make this gruesome heap begin to writhe and grasp, his imagination behaving like an unwitting traitor. Another shriek and this one sounded closer, it was more than enough to get him going again, forcing his hand to follow the line of bodies, climbing over them where necessary until he touched upon the bare rock again.

The growl slid into the dark tomb like a stalking animal and it froze the warden in place as it curled against his skin, turning it to ice. Even the air in his lungs seemed frozen as he heard the distinctly close sound of claws upon stone. Reptilian steps slid across the floor while clogged, liquid breathing rattled around the stone tomb as the thing moved closer, but what made Alistair's heart clench tightly enough to hurt, was the pause in all other sounds followed by a careful, almost delicate sniffing sound.

He silently dropped to his knees before the shaking in his legs could force them to give way on their own. Warden or not, their was something truly disquieting about the idea of the darkspawn sniffing him out down here, he could not put it into words, even in the following years the articulation escaped him, and it was the one part of his tale that he would never reveal. How he had crouched here in the dark, feeling like a child, desperately wishing he was not so alone while that hideous sniffing echoed in this stinking death-trap.

Whether it could actually scent him or perhaps it was lucky, it steps were getting closer and his fingers were now silently scrabbling over the ground around him, the need to arm himself with _something_ overriding the desire to remain here trapped like a frightened rabbit. It was still panic that guided his actions, but a panic that still stubbornly clung on to the fact that he did not wish for his life to end here.

It was only when fingers slipped on the jagged edge of a bone, that he realised the creatures telling sounds had ceased, making the silence all the heavier for their absence. Chilled swear trickled down the back of his neck, travelling the course of his spine as he strained to hear even the tiniest of sounds while fingers wrapped around the bone shard, finding its thicker, blunter end and gripping it for dear life, remaining crouched and frozen to the spot. He couldn't even hear the distant sound of the others he had heard, though this did nothing to make him feel better, unable to convince himself that the thing had gone, that it wasn't still here waiting for him to think himself safe.

How many obstacles would his own imagination throw his way, would he rot down here, still huddled while his mind did far more terrible things than what might await him. Was it actually possible for the darkspawn to be cruelly sentient enough to torture the mind? He could feel his own heart pounding like a pent up fist in his ribcage, his own blood a roar in his ears. He could also feel the weight of a deeper panic trying to creep in and all the while his ears continued to strain for that tell tale sound, only to receive a mocking silence.

Suddenly beyond the endurance of fear he screamed into the dark.

."WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!"

Any previous notions he might have had about the minds of the darkspawn shattered in a rash of goose-flesh along his upper arms when a liquid chuckle broke hot, rank breath along the back of his neck. Fear was fear but instinct was instinct and Alistair whirled...

The pressing darkness didn't matter. Neither did the silence or the corpses that surrounded him. His thoughts had narrowed down to the end of his arm and the bone shard clenched in his fist. He had no real reference of distance or size and simply aimed for the largest body mass. He was rewarded with a thick, meaty sound of impact and an enraged roar that blew rotting breath into his upturned face and the Warden screamed back in terrified rage.

It was not a killing blow however and soon cold, steely fingers found his throat, a heavy body riding his own to the floor, hard knees slamming into his chest as the creature began to squeeze. His good arm lifted, hand fluttered uselessly at the constricting hands before reaching up, palm finding the unmistakable bumps and ridges of a face, this confirmed by teeth that snapped at his hand, producing a strained gurgling sound that might have been his trapped scream. His own blood and rank spittle hit his face and soon bright spots began to highlight the darkness again, sound taking on an unpleasant underwater quality. Pain was the sudden and unexpected slap to the face that brought him back from the unsteady, wavering brink as teeth sank into his shoulder, the creature perhaps deciding it's meal would be better served fresh. Amidst the agony of teeth he also felt something hard digging into his own belly, his mind not making sense of it at first until he felt the hot blood fall onto his skin. Understanding that he had been given one last chance, he moved limbs that felt like lead, slipping a blood slickened hand between them to work its way down and grasp the handle of the bone shard still embedded in the creatures belly, pushed in further by its exertions.

By the Maker his muscles felt like liquid, and despite the all encompassing darkness his world was turning grey at the edges, becoming unfocused. Then the darkspawn set its teeth in even deeper, trying to tear his flesh from the bone. Alistair gave an almighty heave, twisting the bone to ease its way out of putrid flesh, hot blood, feverish with sickness drenched him as he reared an arm back and delivered every last ounce of his strength to the blow.

For a moment those hands tightened and Alistair had time to thank the Maker that he would die before the thing really started eating him, let him be spared that particular horror please. But the hands slackened and slowly he felt its body begin to fall forward, and for an awful moment he was smothered by its flesh, more blood soaking his skin and clothing. It seemed the most monumental effort of all to push it off him and roll away while he noisily pulled in lungful after lungful of desperate air, trying not to retch when he could taste the rot in here on the back of his tongue.

When he heard the distinctive shuffle of steps his hand tightened around the bone shard he had unconsciously refused to relinquish. He groaned, no longer caring about whether he was heard or not. This nightmare surely must end soon, how much was he expected to take? Was there no reprieve for a man who had only sought a place in a life that would allow him to do some good in it? Was this the ultimate betrayal, condemned to die alone and afraid in the dark for daring to bring the light? With an anguished sound he reared up on his knees, slashing wildly at the air.

"ENOUGH YOU COWARDS! STOP SKULKING IN THE DARK AND FINISH IT OR LET ME SEND YOUR BLACKENED CORPSES TO THE FADE!"

He slashed at the air again, enraged and terrified, determined that the least he could do was die fighting.

The hand that settled about his wrist was warm and strong and it did not relent when the Warden attempted to jerk free of its grip.

"Colourful. However perhaps you would be kind enough to not stab me while I illuminate our situation a little, yes?"

The grip relented and Alistair was too dumbfounded to even lower his arm. To hear such a sane voice in all this madness was a shock to the system, as if its owner had no respect for the full terror of the place. There was a flare of light and the warden shut his eyes with a gasp, the sudden illumination too much after the heavy dark. Slowly he dared to open the lids little by little, letting his vision focus enough to make out the short figure standing before him.

"Tch, you are a mess fair Alistair, you will wear out our dear wynne"

There were a hundred questions but presently he couldn't line up the words and if he was perfectly honesty he really didn't care to. Questions took time and all he wished to do was grasp onto this lifeline and leave this place. That his lifeline currently consisted of an Antivan assassin…well the humour of that would not be lost on him later when he was dozing in his tent.

"Just…just get me out of her Zevran. Please"

Perhaps it was the low, shaken quality of the Warden's voice, or maybe simply the fact that Alistair really did look like he'd been hit by a cart and backed up on, but there were no more jokes or clever comments on the way back to the others. The Antivan had simply splinted the broken arm as best he could before hauling the man to his feet and guiding him back to the surface. Alistair was heavy in his exhaustion and their progress was slow, but with every step he felt that rat panic madness leaving him, and he took in the first lungful of air not tainted with death, he felt a very simple gratitude before he finally sank into the soft cool grass of the cave's opening.

**~~~~o0O0o~~~~**

Alistair dismissed the two guards standing outside the door and took up their post, merely staring at the aged wood rather than going into the bedroom beyond. He didn't want to go in there and he certainly didn't know where to begin if he did. If he could have simply raged at the elf for being so abundantly stupid for no other reason than his own amusement, well he wouldn't be standing out here shuffling from foot to foot as if _he_ were the one presently in trouble.

It was the complicated issue of what they had been doing in the hidden part of the garden that, well,… complicated matters. Though he still flushed darkly to think upon it, yelling at some one was a lot harder when you could visualize them in such an intimate aspect. What he had done called into question many things; least of all his own sexuality which had been torn down and toyed with so much by his darling wife that it had been a mess to begin with.

Even worse than all this, was the fact that he knew, sooner or later he would have to look into golden eyes that _knew_ that had _seen._ Maker, he was here to berate a man for a truly foolish and dangerous act, and yet had he not done the same. Dangerous and stupid didn't come in more obvious packaging than spontaneous…..intimacy with a Crow. His perception of himself had been altered, as well as his own perceived view of how things were supposed to be.

And amid all that confusion was the act itself and what it had done to him. In his minds eye he saw hands plunging beneath lacing while the echo of his own heavy breath slipped between his ears. The sudden memory caused a minute twitch of his groin and the King of Ferelden glared at his own crotch with a muttered command of "Don't even think about it"

As much as he really would rather find an empty bedroom and sleep for a week he needed some answers, probably to more important questions other than why he had allowed himself to do such things with Zevran Arainai of all people, and he didn't suppose any of the answers were on the back of this door. With a long suffering sigh he finally pushed it open and stepped inside. Making quite a meal out of closing it behind him. Now staring at the other side of the door which offered even less answers. The silence behind him was somewhat politely expectant.

If there was ever a time he would have thanked Zevran for one of his patented quips it would have been now, he wasn't very good at breaking the ice. Forcing himself to man up and turn, a quick tour of the room with his eyes found the Antivan sat upon a hard backed chair next to a small writing desk, the elf looking at him with benign interest.

"You…covered me"

The statement surprised him as much as it seemed to surprise the assassin who lifted a brow with an irritated expression Alistair wasn't familiar with. "Your Majesty, as I have already explained, I have no desire to humiliate you, considering your guard's approach I thought it was prudent that you not be found quite so…untethered. Is it really all that difficult a concept to grasp?"

"I told you to stop calling me that!" It sounded petulant and it was, he was not the one who was supposed to feel guilty here yet he _had_ been surprised by the elf's quick thinking and desire to preserve his dignity, perhaps undeservedly so.

The irritated expression narrowed molten amber eyes again and Zevran waved a dismissive hand. "If I am to be verbally spanked like a naughty child I would rather it be done so by a king…not the man I once watched eat an inadvisable mushroom before having to go sit _alone_ for several hours"

"I was hungry and Morrigan said they were fine!"

Eyes rolled and amusement mingled with the elf's exotic accent again "Yes and the fact that you actually believed her only proves the point I am making"

"That has….look will you…Fine, call me what you want. Just tell me about the assassins" The fact that he felt assassins the safer subject said quite a bit about how completely absurd the entire situation was. However with Zevran's deft way with words he felt that any approach about what had happened before the assassins approached would leave the elf running verbal rings around him, likely making it impossible for the man to lay any kind of blame upon the devilish elf. He didn't need reminding that he hadn't said no.

"Of the assassins I know very little, I was lucky to receive the information that I did. All I can tell you is that somebody wishes you dead…again. And this time it seems they have learned from their mistakes…they sent more than one assassin this time"

"Not enough it seems, I don't suppose two misses means they give up?"

Zevran snorted and stretched in the chair like a lazy cat, Alistair's eyes drifting to the bronzed skin stretched over thigh muscles. Again he was assaulted with another fleeting memory of those very same thighs squeezing about his hips. He looked away a little too sharply, the gesture no doubt witnessed by the Antivan who blessedly chose not to comment.

"That depends entirely upon the depths of the client's pockets, and their patience. The Crows are not a cheap option to begin with you understand. Sneaking into a palace full of guards involves expensive risks. Whoever hired them has deep pockets, and if they want you badly enough…" He shrugged, not needing to state any more of the obvious.

Surprisingly the knowledge that somebody wanted him dead failed to move Alistair quite as much as it should have, and Zevran's bleak forecast still didn't have him as fearful as he probably needed to be. During the blight quite a lot of people had wanted to kill him, and as such he had become desensitized to the potential threat, seeing it as a problem to be solved rather than a reason to run and hide behind his guards until the problem went away. For all the little changes he'd faced in the years after the blight, he had never stopped being practical.

"So how do find out who has the deep pockets?"

Zevran rose from the chair and shook his head. "_We_ shall do nothing your highness. I shall be the one to extract this information as quickly as possible"

Alistair watched the Antivan take a step towards him and without thinking he moved just enough for the chair to be between them. Right now they were discussing his imminent death, which while macabre was still preferable to any other subject they might have to discuss and he _really_ didn't need to be close to the Antivan now." I want to know what's going on Zevran and I think I have proven myself capable enough over the years."

The sad, almost pitying look he was given puzzled him. "You are quite capable. But there are some things a man like you would not do. Such duties are left to men like me. Whatever you think of me I would like you to preserve your own honour. It is a rarity among those who are chosen to be kings"

Alistair rubbed a palm at the back of his neck which felt oddly warm, halfway between flushed and confused. "Err…thank you, I think. But I'm not entirely sure what my honour has to do with this"

Zevran straddled the back of the chair, sitting down again, though now those tanned thighs were spread and Alistair wondered faintly if the move had been deliberate. 10 seconds later he was asking himself why he was _still_ looking at that mostly covered space between them, his gaze moving up to a face that wore the smug expression of someone politely waiting for the warden king to give him his attention again. He didn't even have to feel the hot stain of the flush to know it was there.

"Though I was unlucky in my timing we're none the less more fortunate than we likely have any right to be. Your guards captured one of the crows. I believe her name is Valicia. It is possible the information could be coaxed out of her, but it will not be given willingly…I will have to resort to measures that you will neither like nor approve of"

The elf sounded weary now and Alistair watched him carefully, ashamed to perhaps admit that he was searching for the slightest hint that this was all a rehearsed act. The words did not match the man who had once boldly, even gleefully told tales of his murderous exploits. The weight of his words had not gone unnoticed and their meaning had bloomed in his mind with all sorts of terrible pictures. "You're talking of torture aren't you?"

Zevran nodded and raised a hand, forestalling any further words for the moment, though honestly Alistair didn't really know what to say next aside from the obvious.

"Before you cry your disgust I must remind you that I was once a crow"

"It's a little hard to forget. Hearing someone yell 'the warden must die' 2 seconds before you get hit in the face with lightening tends to be memorable" Despite himself he couldn't help the faint twitch of his lips. Though how he had ever developed to the point where he ever thought that situation to be funny was beyond him. Perhaps he was in some quiet form of hysterics.

The elf merely nodded to concede the point. "Yes and a terribly bad boy I was, I think we covered this part. My point is that I know how the crows work. There is no deal or kind hand that would make her give you what we need. We…they...understand pain. It is not pretty to consider…and quite melodramatic really. We need that information Alistair, some Crows are none too particular about disposing of those in the way of their target."

Alistair turned his back on the elf and scrubbed both hands through his hair. "you make a compelling argument, as much as I hate to admit it, but torture is still torture, no matter how reasonable you might make it sound. There has to be another w—"

"There isn't. It is not your honour I am asking you to taint; I have made that perfectly clear. Do you really despair one more black mark in my already full book. Are you perhaps feeling sentimental about my ravaged soul?" The sharpness in Zevran's voice cut his words off as cleanly as a blade. He knew the elf was telling the truth now, and it was an uncomfortable one at that. But the idea of allowing torture felt far too much like falling into the footsteps of Loghain and Howe. It frightened him how easy it was for such opportunities to occur. How simple it would be to allow Zevran's plan all for the cause of the greater good. He shuddered to imagine all the evil that might have possibly been borne from what had started out as the good intentions of men in power.

"Look, I need to think about this. I have to at least _try_ reasoning with this woman before I even consider…I'm not saying yes but, if all else fails, well…Maker….I'll think about it"

Alistair turned to the room's window that looked out upon the palace courtyard. Dawn had already diluted the rich dark of the sky and the stars were fading one by one. He didn't want to look at Zevran just yet, agreeing to even think about the Antivan's plan had left a bad taste in his mouth. He had always hated the idea of assassins, it was a cowardly way to solve a problem, and now _he _was the problem and he had no idea why. Having turned over the idea of torture as much as he was going to, the warden king grasped at another question, drawing out the moment where he would have to turn and face the disagreeable silence behind him.

"If this is so important, why did you wait until they were almost on top of us to tell me? It isn't the sort of thing that just slips your mind"

He sensed the elf moving behind him and fixed his eye on the tiny dot of a weathervane in the distance, trying to make out what shape the black iron had been cast in. There were questions that lay just beneath the one he had asked and they made his stomach squirm unpleasantly.

"Is that the question you truly wish to ask your Majesty?"

His stomach swooped like a sea diving bird and he gritted his teeth as ears detected just the faintest flavour of mocking to those words. The elf could sometimes make asking and answering questions like walking through a field full of bear traps, sometimes he reminded Alistair of a cunning spider. Sat in a web built of his guile, he would twitch the strands and draw his victim in closer until they were caught and then the _real_ questions would come to light while you were still wondering which words would end his verbal maze.

"Just answer the question Aranai"

An exaggerated sigh answered him and the smaller figure of the elf joined him at the window, forcing him to stare very hard at the weathervane in the distance….was it a nug?

"If you insist, but in return you must answer one of mine. You are not the only one who is presently curious"

Alistair heard the faint clang and the snap as his metaphorical foot stepped in the first hidden trap. "This isn't a game Zevran. Just answer me, why would you wait to tell me?"

"And I believe my question to be just as important, do we have an agreement?"

The former Warden was suddenly very tired and if things continued in this vein he would be asleep standing by the time he met with his advisor's later today. "I'm loosing my patience Zevran, and I'm tired, can we please just finish this _before_ the next blight"

He felt, rather than saw the Antivan fix him with another of those stares, and confirmed it with a glance into his peripheral vision. "Very well, but you will not interrupt when I answer and I _will_ be asking you a question in return"

A warm hand settled about Alistair's wrist when he opened his mouth to reply, and it quickly shut again, it was suddenly very important that he devoted all his attention on that distant weathervane.

"Hush, and listen. The information I received detailed that a contract had been made only two days ago, nowhere near enough time for them to reach Denerim before I did. When I relayed the information to Loucas we both agreed I would be the one to come here, I am particularly privy to the workings of the Crows as you well know. You ask why I did not tell you this and my answer is a simple one that I think you will perhaps not like. Myself and Loucas also agreed that if I could dispatch of your intended assassins without having to worry you with the information, all the better. Your recent position as king is difficult enough, Loucas did not think you required the extra weight upon your shoulders. Obviously my information had been relayed to me incorrectly, and the assassins now know that you have a Crow trained bodyguard, somewhat loosing us the element of surprise"

Zevran had been right. He didn't like this one bit, in fact it stank fairly rotten in his opinion. Their intentions had been good ones, there was no doubt about that, but planning to keep him in the dark about something like this was inexcusable. It had nothing to do with his being the King, and everything to do with the trials they had faced a scant few years ago. He hadn't turned tail and ran from the insurmountable problem that had been placed before them, he had stood his ground alongside all of them and his hands had worn as much blood, (black _and_ red) as the others. Aside from being a monarch he was a Warden and a warrior, not some innocent child that needed protecting from the world and its harsh truths. It was demeaning. Most of all it felt as though somewhere along the line he had failed some test, like he had handed in his right to fight for himself and for others the moment he had put on the crown. Yet he was too tired to rage, the anger at the pair of them doing no more than simmering somewhere at the back of his mind, perhaps because in some ways he was waiting for this day, the one where they decided he would no longer be capable.

Slowly, the hand uncurled from his wrist and Alistair finally turned to face the Antivan, somewhat surprised to see a faint caution tightening the corners of those ever intense eyes. "You're right. I don't like it. And at some point we'll be having a chat with the Warden Commander about me being a fully grown man and not a little girl with pigtails. But I suppose we have more pressing matters right now"

Zevran looked faintly relieved and shrugged, "I cannot say I have ever envisioned you in pigtails. Leather, yes…plenty of—"

"Shut up"

"Which brings me nicely to _my_ question your Majesty—"

"Stop calling me that!"

He was a little afraid now. They had nicely skirted the issue he had wanted to avoid so far aside from his own vaguely wandering eyes, but the way the elf was smiling at him, that knowing tilt to the lips…

"Very well, _Alistair_. Now, I—"

"Do we have to do this now?" He inwardly winced when he heard the beginnings of panic in his own voice, and then took a couple of steps back as a hand planted in the middle of his chest and walked him back a couple of steps, those golden eyes narrowed at him yet again.

"Yes, we must do this now, if you are to function I do not require such unanswered things to be plaguing you. Shut up."

The two words lashed at him like the crack of a whip as he had opened his mouth yet again to protest, his hand pushing away the elf's, only to have it return and continue to propel him back with Zevran's steps until his knees hit the bed hard enough to sit him down heavily. For a wonder he did shut up, mostly because he couldn't believe the words had been given as a clear command.

"I have decided to turn my 'question' into something of a statement or you shall have us chasing our tails right up to the moment somebody slips a dagger between your ribs if I actually waited for you to answer. I wished to know if you had enjoyed what we did together, I expected all the-" He waved a distracted hand, trying to conjure the word he knew into Ferelden. "-misgivings, the agonizing. You are a Ferelden, your people are never happy unless they are chewing their knuckles in anguish. But I at least wished to know if beneath all that, the experience had been pleasurable as well as enlightening. I know the answer of course but perhaps desired to hear it from your own mouth"

The word 'mouth' was drawn out with some relish and like an illusionist the elf's voice brought a vision of rigid heat passing between his inexperienced lips. A twitch happened somewhere below…

(_Stop that right now!)_

…he tore himself away from that vision of memory and fixed his eyes on his knees, there was nothing remotely alluring about his knees, and one of them even had a grass stain to inspect.

"Therefore we shall simply assume that yes, you enjoyed it, enough to ignore your ceaselessly over thinking brain at the very least. So now I answer one of your unspoken questions. Yes"

It took a few seconds for the words to first penetrate and then confuse him, but like a champion he got there in the end and chanced a glance at the elf who seemed to be looking very pleased with himself. Rather too pleased with himself if Alistair was any judge. The caution in his voice was not veiled in the slightest. "Yes to…what exactly?"

That small roll of shoulders again. It made leather creak and muscle shift in the upper arms. It also caused an unconscious and nervous tongue to wet suddenly dry lips.

"Yes, I do intend to seduce you again. I suppose you have spent so much time worrying about yourself you haven't even considered as to whether I enjoyed myself hmm? Before you say a word allow me to remind you that your former theory has been somewhat…disassembled. I still have no desire to make you appear a fool. You are however an attractive man with power, I admit it is a rather trite aphrodisiac but still.."

He was treated to a deliberate sweep of hooded eyes that took in all of him, hunched as he was. The fist inside his chest slammed into his ribcage again. He really wasn't expecting such blatant answers to some of his unspoken questions, which would make him feel stupid when he later reminded himself _who_ he had been talking to. The man might not wish to make a fool of him, perhaps he could come to terms with that. But he wasn't above shocking the warden king still and he'd done so elegantly enough that Alistair couldn't even think of a reply let alone voice one right now, especially not while his own startled gaze was pinned by Zevran's calculated stare.

"I admit, I do not usually return to most conquests, but…" and here the Antivan finally did what he'd been threatening to do the moment Alistair had stepped into the room. The gap between them was closed, enough so that knees touched upon knees and the warden kings eyes were hurriedly cast to the floor as that bright fire splayed outward from his cheeks yet again. Maker did he need to advertise everything with that damn blush?

Careful fingers patiently fought against his own stubborn embarrassment and tilted his head up by way of a soft grip on his jaw, "But I do not think I have conquered even half of what you have to offer Alistair, and I believe it will be _exciting_ to try"

Oh this was dangerous. He wasn't tiptoeing through the traps now, he was trying to tap dance through them and doing very badly at that. What in the Fade was he supposed to say to that? The most obvious choice was of course to remind the assassin that he was married, however even he couldn't think upon that excuse without wanting to burst out laughing.

"You do not have to say anything yet my nervous king. As you have pointed out, we have pressing matters ahead. I also think there might be a better time to exercise my intentions other than when you are looking ready to sleep on your feet"

The Maker truly was a cruel being if people like Zevran Arainai were allowed to read minds like that. If the Antivan had just made vague allusions or innuendo he probably might have a righteous pulpit to hide behind. But to have the man lay everything down calmly and explicitly bypassed all of that and simply left him slightly shell shocked. It would occur to him later that this had been the plan.

"Now. Sleep Alistair, I will have the guards wake you in a few hours, there will be much to do tomorrow if you are still insistent upon using lesser means to interrogate our captured Crow"

He felt himself being pushed back on the bed before he could think about getting too indignant in response to those words and merely fixed the elf with a highly unconvincing glare.

"No one is to do anything till I am there Zevran"

Golden eyes rolled and he was manhandled beneath the covers, the Antivan surprising him again by electing not to go for an 'accidental' grope.

"Yes, yes. We shall all be good little boys and girls. Now sleep, dream of sunny skies, scented orchards…and golden haired assassins laid bare"

He groaned into his pillow, secretly glad that the Antivan hadn't become _entirely_ unpredictable. "Go away"

"Alas my first rebuff. I shall carry my aching heart like a lead weight within my chest"

"I hate you"

"Good Night, Your Majesty"

The door clicked close and Alistair didn't have to check to know that he was alone, the elf's personality had a weight of its own and it had left along with its owner. He _was_ extremely tired, and though he knew he should have said much more than he had the chance of escaping in blessed sleep was too seductive to ignore.

That night he dreamed of screaming in the dark and the weight of a hand settling about his wrist.

**~~~~o0O0o~~~~**

**And there you have it. No smut, all plot and some background history which will probably become a regular thing as chapters develop. (The history, im too weak not to include the smut)**

**I hope you enjoyed this and there will be a new chapter coming though im toying with the idea of a one shot first. Depends what tickles my fancy first I guess.**


	4. Chapter 4

**First off I would like to start by thanking all the lovely people who have taken time to leave reviews. I can't speak for every author on here, but personally it goes a long way to encouraging me to continue this story. After all a story exists to be read and its oh so much more satisfying writing a chapter I know is eagerly awaited. I can reciprocate only promising you I shall try to keep the standard.**

**We go from amusing to slightly…well dark in this episode and I will warn you that this chapter includes a torture scene. While I try to stay very far away from offensive I have added this scene not to shock but to add to the character development….i kinda hate 2d mary sue chars.**

**For those of you interested, I had to actually sit down and think about Loucas since he isn't a char that's really all that pre-designed. In my head the closest I could imagine him when it comes to looks is to point you in the direction of Ioan Gruffudd's portrayal of Lancelot since i cant link a pic**

**I'm not sure how much I intend to involve Loucas at the moment, but I do intend, and have tried, to make his character as rich as the others, not really wishing him to be the cardboard cut-out that occasionally appears to further the plot.**

**I hope you enjoy reading as much as I did writing.**

**Your faithful smut-assassin**

**G**

**~~~~o0O0o~~~~**

**Rose & Gold**

It had been one of those rare days where Loucas had woken up and promptly declared none of them fit to move on. Despite the constraint of time and the urgency of what was coming, the Warden had recognized that his people were not just tired to the bone. They were dragging their heavy souls laboriously behind them, their emotions simply drained dry by the never ending fight. The elven ruins had been hard enough on them, even Zevran had found the restlessness of the dead there disquieting, and the werewolves' attacks had been vicious in their execution. It had been dismaying to find that the crude ambush by waiting darkspawn had almost finished them, almost lost them a founding member of this tightly bound group.

Zevran had spent many years considering his own mortality and so he was able to stand back and recognize it dawning on many of their faces once they had finally beaten the creatures back to, only find Alistair missing. Nothing on this journey had been easy for any of them, but their continued success had acted like a talisman to all. They had done impossible things, escaped death by less than the skin of their teeth, had time and time again beaten back every obstacle and constantly driven forward. Slowly but surely, like the slip of pebbles before a landslide, they had been winning. Alistair's disappearance would be the hairline crack in their shield that would let the stronger brand of fear slowly seep in.

His return had repaired some of that cracking, but now they all understood that they were _not_ untouchable, they were _not_ protected by the grace of the Maker. What they did now they did alone, an insurmountable task that begged them time and time again to risk their lives. Lives that suddenly seemed a whole lot more fragile and easily snuffed out.

Nobody had complained when Loucas informed them of their day's grace. They had picked a hidden clearing in the Brecilian forest, just a mile or so away from the Dalish encampment, not wishing to witness the private grief of the tribe as they brought the body of their former keeper to its pyre.

However, as heavy as their own mortality might have been these people were amazingly resilient when required and the lethargy of the morning had given way to normal practices that allowed them to—if not forget—then at least recognize that some things needed to be put aside rather than examined too closely.

Lelianna and Wynne had disappeared back into the forest in search of herb's, they had returned hours later smirking and chuckling in that private way that women had when they discussed men, all knowing grins and faintly assessing eyes.

Sten had spent the best part of the day in a long and patient debate with Shale concerning the best way to remove a heart from the ribcage. It was difficult to follow and impossible to tell who, if anybody, was winning. But nobody had thrown a punch yet and the elf refrained from unveiling his own methods in preference to not having the two of them watch him like a hawk for the rest of the day.

He had not been surprised to see that Morrigan had once more attempted to seclude herself from the rest, however after breakfast she had spent much of the day chasing the Cousland's Mabari away from her tent and belongings, furiously insisting she had no more herbs, the mangy beast had already eaten them all! Since he had grown rather bored with her sharply aimed comments that still circled around his inability to kill either a noble or an addled Templar, he refrained from informing her that he'd seen both Cousland and Alistair tiptoeing around her little campsite earlier in the day when she had left to wash at one of the small streams. Both of the men had been giggling like fiendish street urchins. He had watched in quiet amusement as the dog scrabbled, pawed and shook at her belongings, likely trying to get at the bits of leftover breakfast the two of them had deposited in various places such as her packs and the bedroll.

Cousland had reacted in much the way Zevran expected him to, and aside from a tendency to gaze around the camp a little more often, likely to check that everyone was still safe and possessing all their limbs, he seemed almost unaffected, as if the devastation and sense of failure that had caused his face to crumble the moment it became clear Alistair had been taken, had never been there in the first place.

And Alistair himself?

Well he had been the most surprising of all. He'd returned to the camp shell shocked and uncommunicative, simply allowing himself to be healed before crawling off to the nearest stream to wash and then secluding himself in his tent where the elf had no doubt that sleep had dropped upon him like a stone. Upon awaking however you might have been fooled into thinking that nothing had happened, the man just as infectiously good natured as he usually was, if perhaps a little more mischievous under the influence of Cousland's obvious gambit of keeping his friends mind off previous events.

The Antivan had not mentioned the mad and raving thing he had found swiping at the dark with increasing desperation, it was not his job to shatter anybodies ideals of a person and quite frankly after spending half an hour in that hole he couldn't say that he would have blamed the man if he found him down there writing sonnets with his own drool.

Zevran had wandered aimlessly about the camp for most of the morning, surprised to find that the constant sense of being watched had gone. In fact nobody seemed concerned as to his whereabouts at all, whereas before he hadn't been able to water a secluded bush without the tell-tale heavy tread of the golem or its pinpoint gaze that would settle just between his shoulders. He'd never see it when he turned but he would always feel it. Apparently it seemed they were now happy to leave him alone to his devices, perhaps forgetting that in Zevran's case, most of his devices leaned towards murder or lechery. But even he had to admit that they were safe from him now, killing Cousland was out of the question, and if he was ever deluding himself that he planned to kill the former Templar he had pulled the wool off his own eyes the moment he'd gone down into that long dark and brought the man back. For better or worse he was here till the end of the ride. The only thing was…he didn't know why.

An oath was a fine thing to hide behind, especially when it saved your life, but the Antivan didn't doubt that he could probably just walk right on out of this clearing and keep going if he chose to. They might choose to follow him and bring him back, but it would no longer be done at the end of a sword, and if he knew Cousland as much as he believed he did, he would be given a choice.

Now sprawled in amongst the thick intertwining branches of an old oak while the afternoon was whittled away by a descending sun, the elf finally allowed himself to turn the question over in his head at his own leisure.

The facts were pretty clear but none of them really meant a damn thing to a man whose very nature caused him to serve himself 90% of the time, if he could get away with it of course. It was true that failure was looked upon with terminal dimness within the Crows, that much had been true. The oath to Cousland had not been a lie either, but at that point he'd been staring death in the face, many faces and none of them happy with him. That had been survival.

But it was safe to say that most oaths he had given in his lifetime had been given under the threat of death, which made one wonder about the value of such allegiances really. The oath he had given to the crows bought him an extended life where he got to exercise every single one of some very finely honed talents. Yet there had always been the threat of what would follow failure and it had hung over him like a bladed pendulum, swinging dangerously low on occasions. Following the Crows had nothing to do with loyalty and everything to do with wishing to keep his head.

It had been the same when he had given his promise to Cousland, but instead of that pendulum swinging low enough to ruffle the hair at the back of his neck, he had felt it rising with each day he spent amongst these people, and when he had emerged from the caves dragging Alistair with him, he hadn't sensed it at all. It seemed as though his continued refrain from murdering them all in their sleep and his relentless consistency in battle had drawn away some of their suspicion, and the moment he had done something as 'noble' as rescuing one of their pivotal members….well perhaps they saw it as a withdrawing of that invisible, potential blade that they seemed to think he had held at the two men's necks.

It was maddening to discover that they were probably right.

All his life he had served others in order to serve himself, to protect the most precious of things, his own life. Oh it was undeniable that he'd had a _lot_ of fun along the way, enough to make the old mage shoo him away when he contributed to the campfire stories. But it had always been done with a sense that he should grasp life's more enjoyable moments quickly because there was no telling when that blade would fall. But now he could feel that the leash had been removed and all he could do was stand there like a cow in a slaughterhouse, too stupid to run when a gate had been left open.

What was keeping him here?

There were epic battles that tested him, often to his very limit. Treasure had passed through his hands and he had been privy to some movements that would eventually shape Thedas itself. All these things were fine pursuits there was no doubt about that, but Zevran had spent half a lifetime running ahead of death, and now he was running _towards_ it with every step he followed in the Wardens wake. The Wardens might well be steadily gaining allies, amassing a force, but when all the diplomacy and good deeds were done, it would eventually be down to the blood and Zevran had spent some time looking upon that end battle as one he might not survive.

Would the potential thrill of escaping an almost assured death be enough to stop him from simply turning around and walking away, or would it be—Maker forbid!—Loyalty?

This question had revolved in his head for much of the afternoon and he was no closer to really pinpointing the answer. He set it aside to be examined later, accepting the knowledge that for whatever reasons he might have, selfish or otherwise, he was here to stay, at least for the time being.

Now he simply lay there in the cool green secrecy of the oak's branches, letting the last hour fall away in a doze that was never precisely sleep but still left his head a little more pleasantly empty. He was just considering dropping out of the tree and wandering over to the camp to discover whether tonight's meal was approachable given Alistair's enthused offer to cook this evening, when the dry whisper of sun shrivelled grasses alerted him to somebody's approach.

"So, um…what is this again?" The voice was faintly cautious and seconds later, through the numerous gaps in the broad green leaves, Zevran saw Cousland and Alistair step into view of the small clearing, the former noble prodding at something unidentifiable in a bowl.

Alistair looked around before spotting a large log and kicking it experimentally with the toe of his boot. Apparently deciding it was sturdy enough he sat down "I told you, its stew"

Loucas took up his own perch on the large fallen log and the elf watched his eyes swivel from his bowl to Alistair who was now industriously spooning the 'stew' into his mouth. "Only…well is it supposed to be grey…and the smell is…well its unique Alistair you can say that much about it"

The elf's lips curled in amusement while he watched the two of them, Alistair lifting his head to declare "It's not _that_ bad, I didn't have much to work with!"

Loucas cocked a brow at the former Templar and pulled his teeth back against his lips to let out a shrill whistle. "Allow me to demonstrate" He set the bowl onto the floor and within seconds the mabari came into Zevran's view, nose going directly to the bowl. Seconds later the dog backed off, gave Cousland a reproachful whine and left as quickly as he had appeared while Loucas spread his hands towards the departing mabari "And Brick once ate a toilet brush…that's all I'm saying"

Alistair frowned and made a hand gesture that probably hadn't been learned from the chantry. "You know, I have been meaning to ask for ages. Why Brick?"

Zevran turned ever so carefully in the nest of branches cradling him, he was quite secure but didn't wish to disturb the leaves too much and give away his position. He knew the two men kept much of their decision making private, and though this conversation seemed inane if somewhat amusing, if he remained long enough he might just become privy to some plan or secret that could prove useful, informative or yet again, amusing. Getting comfortable he manoeuvred himself so that he could peer unseen through the thick foliage.

"I was fifteen and lacked the imagination for a truly bloodthirsty name. Besides, he's rather grown into it I think" Zevran would agree, the creatures muscled frame had a certain square shape to it, including its blunt muzzle, and it's coarse coat had the same rusty colour. "Besides I could call him 'King DarkLord the Man-Bits Ripper' and he would still roll in his own mess then go hide when Wynne threatens him with a bath"

Alistair snorted and set his bowl beside his feet on the leaf strewn floor unaware for the moment that Loucas was now looking at him carefully, fingers interlaced as they usually were when the man had something to say that he didn't much relish the idea of saying. Zevran recognized it and knew where this was likely going, Alistair seemed to notice eventually when he looked up, and presumably _he_ was all too aware of what waited on the former nobles tongue too. He held up a hand, looking slightly weary, but determined.

"I don't want to discuss it. I know what I looked like when I got out of there so I know you have a pretty good idea that what happened down in those caves wasn't pleasant. It was in fact…terrifying." His mouth pulled into a thin line and though he was looking at Cousland, even Zevran could see that for a moment the light in his eyes said he was back a good few miles below the earth, in the dark…listening to himself scream. "…But it's something I can't share. Not because I just want to forget the whole thing, I simply can't explain it in a way you will understand"

Loucas frowned and struggled with words that appeared a little too big for him to chew on, "It's just that…Wynne, she heard you talking in your sleep, she's worried" _I'm worried to._ Those last words were unspoken because to voice them would perhaps show a lack of confidence in the other man, thinking them was okay, but voicing them was not. You didn't have to be good at reading people to hear the unsaid words that sometimes lined the back of someone's tongue, but Zevran was good at reading people, good enough to know that Alistair's own mind was filing in Loucas' unsaid words all on its own, and the former Templar would not embarrass or shame him by acknowledging they had been said.

"Well, you can tell Wynne the moment I feel like wearing my pant's on my head I shall be sure to inform her. However for now she can safely assume I'm no less fractured than I've always been"

There was another scrutinizing silence where Cousland watched his friend steadily, Alistair simply staring back with resolute patience until Loucas nodded and seemed to relax his posture a little, "Fair enough, I'll let her know. Though personally, if I see you wearing pants on your head I'm probably just going to assume its business as usual"

The hand gesture was given a repeat performance with an extra flourish, "Laugh it up, there's still time to feed you to a Hurlock and make it look like an accident"

Alistair was pushed with very little ceremony off the log before Cousland rose with a stretch. "You can't get rid of me, who would beat off all the assassins coming after you?"

Zevran nearly fell out of the tree while restraining the most natural answer in the world to that question. Well…natural for the Antivan anyway. If he hadn't have been hiding it probably would have slipped from his tongue with an all too natural ease, instead he had to be content with silently sniggering to himself.

Alistair dislodged a random stick from an uncomfortable location before hauling himself up, only half glowering at the dark eyed warden who was kicking randomly at the thick carpet of leaves, uncovering choice bits of firewood here and there. "Talking of assassins, why send Zevran after me. Not that I'm insulted you weren't all traipsing around down there desperately calling my name while already lamenting my loss but…." He shrugged, and again Zevran read the unsaid words…why send a killer to the recue?

Cousland added a thick branch to the pile in his arms and squinted at the dying light that fell on his face in molten dappled splashes. "Truth be told, I didn't. One minute we were trying to come up with a plan, the next minute he simply swore in Antivan and disappeared into the caves. We tried to follow but….well I wasn't thinking straight and I guess it was my turn to get lost."

Zevran blocked out Alistair's reply, not wanting to hear it and not really needing to be reminded of a question he had been asking himself not long before and was no closer to answering. Their harried attempt at making plans had frustrated him. He'd seen the cracks appearing and could feel them growing each second, making them all work at cross purposes in their desperate desire to not fail in even this one small task. In their minds they were already mentally hinging the success of everything upon finding the former Templar again. He knew he could move faster alone, could slip by unseen by the darkspawn, and none of their eyes could beat his own when it came to the dark. So he'd made a decision and that was that. It wasn't heroic, it was done because it had to be done if they were to move on, and without Alistair the cracks that wore at their hearts would have widened to canyons by the time they all faced the archdemon.

"….probably wouldn't mind him so much these days if he didn't persist in annoying me with endless innuendo all the time. Half the time I don't know where to put my face"

"I'm fairly sure Zevran would have one or two ideas" Cousland muttered, though not low enough for Alistair to not hurl the next stick at his head. The Warden ducked and sniggered, "Hey for all you know he could be serious….why don't you ask _him_ the Lamppost question?"

"We both said we would never discuss that conversation again!"

"I see you neatly avoided the first statement"

Alistair stood there looking incredulous for a moment before he prodded the slightly smaller man in the chest, "Arainai enjoys winding me up, because he can as much as I hate to admit it. But he's about as serious as Morrigan's attempts at civility. And if by some tiny chance he _was_ serious, the likelihood of me…umm well…you know"

"Licking a lamppost?" Cousland suggested innocently.

"You are a horrible person and I'm going now" Alistair stride away with as much dignity as he could muster which wasn't much after stumbling over a tree root. Loucas soon followed still teasing the other Warden until Zevran could no longer see either of them and soon even their voices drifted away.

He remained in the arms of the tree for another half hour, digesting the conversation he had overheard. Most of it had been the kind of nonsense that only two friends could really understand, but there had been little hints here and there. He found himself going over Alistair's words more than a few times.

"_Even if he was serious…."_

Now a new question itched at the back of his brain. Had the former Templar meant to add that he would never do such a thing with a man, or was it perhaps the thought of such discovery with a man like Zevran that was out of the question? Surprisingly he didn't feel insulted, if anything he felt…encouraged. If Alistair recoiled simply at the thought of sharing intimacy with another man he could still use it for his own purposes of entertainment. But if Alistair's real hang up was the idea of such tender mercies being delivered at _his_ hands…well that just implied persuasion was required at some point. Alistair had spoken the most outrage when he had joined the motley group, he had always been the first to voice his deep distrust and watched him almost as closely as Shale in the first month or so. Yet he had done all this with a certain amount of passion, and if there was a man who knew how to manipulate passion it was the bronzed elf.

He was a patient man when he had the luxury to be so, and all he would need was one weak moment…

**~~~~o0O0o~~~~**

It had all been very amusing to watch at first.

One day after the Crows attack and Alistair had still been resolute that he wanted to try talking to the woman himself. Zevran knew that this was only partly due to his reluctance in permitting torture. The fact that he had argued for a full half hour with the Captain of his guard about going in alone told the Antivan that the King also feared exactly how much his prisoner might have seen in the garden, or more accurately, what she might reveal to others. From what he could remember, Valicia was particularly vicious, a woman who was an ugly reflection the Crows, but they kept her around because while most certainly a little mad, Valicia could be counted upon to send rather visceral messages with her kills. He could have tried explaining this again but the only way it would get through to Alistair's thick skull was to allow the man to learn from experience. So he had merely sat at the entrance of the dungeons playing diamond back with the Sergeant and one of his men as Alistair swept past them the first time with haughty determination. The Antivan nearly palmed his face as he noted the tray of food in the man's hand and even the Sergeant looked uncomfortably embarrassed.

Despite his promise Zevran had already approached the Captain of the guard in an attempt to persuade the man that the Antivan's methods would be faster and less humiliating for their king. But the Captain had made it very clear that the king's orders were to be followed (whether he liked them or not), he had also made it clear that he didn't trust the former Crow. Since the Sergeant was a loyal man, and above all else, really wanted to keep his job, he would not relent to the Antivan's voice of reasoning either, though he did deign to give Zevran a look that said a lot of things;

"_None of us like this. He's our king and somebody is trying to kill him. Things like that should be simple, but they never are when you have a good man on the throne. We're afraid we might fail and what we __**really, really**__ want to do is let you into that cell…but our king is a good man, which means we have to be good men, even if sometimes being bad men would make it all so much easier"_

The words didn't need to be spoken, he could feel them echoing quite loudly in his ears.

The elf had later found out that Valicia had been playing her cards to her chest until Alistair began making his appearances in her cell. She said nothing to the guards and behaved like a model—if silent—Prisoner.

Both Zevran and the two guards had strained to listen to what might be going on in there, stupidly so since the cell had been soundproofed. Not every king that ruled over Ferelden had opposed to torture as a means of getting what they wanted, and the cells were designed for things that were too messy and loathsome to be allowed to penetrate the sanity of the real world. It took a mere fifteen minutes for Alistair to emerge wearing most of what he had carried into the room. The Sergeant and his man had been wise enough to cast their eyes to their cards but Zevran took a particular pleasure at simply arching a brow as the man strode past them with about as much decorum as he could muster while wearing gravy.

"Shut up" was muttered resignedly as he passed the elf.

Before the next attempt the Captain had yet again tried to persuade his king to take an escort into the cell. He had been gently thanked for his concern and then firmly refused. Alistair had never ventured to tell him what Valicia had said to him the second time he shut himself in that cell with her. But when he exited it was at a fast walk, his face redder than the elf had ever seen it and he looked to be sweating. Zevran and the guards yet again exchanged significant looks and nervous sniggers because it was just a little funny, but the elf could see that watching their king make a fool of himself repeatedly made them distantly uncomfortable.

But they let it be funny because it was easier than getting frustrated with the man's obstinate insistence that this could be done with diplomacy. There was even a quiet sort of pool between the guards as to what would happen the next time, though of course they were quick to insist that the king had every right to do things his way, and if anybody else outside the palace wall had dared laugh they probably would have come down on them like a ton of bricks. It was the perk of a guard's job to occasionally snigger at your boss, that didn't mean they would allow others the same privilege.

In fact Zevran detected an all round notion of protectiveness from the guards when it came to Alistair that went beyond the usual meaning of the word when concerning guardsmen. The way they seemed to run interference when the Queen was on the warpath was one example. It was safe to say that Anora was milking the fact that an assassin had been caught right outside her chambers for all it was worth. But it wasn't sympathy she was angling for as she marched around the palace hunting for her husband at every available opportunity. The attack was wielded at Alistair like the wet spot on a rug made by a nervous puppy, the recent influx of mortal danger of course his fault for lax security, provoking the nobles and any number of things she chose to pull out of the air. However she didn't have quite as much freedom to torment the man as she might have first thought, for it seemed every time she went on the hunt for the King some idiot guard would always find himself in her way, occasionally presenting her with a situation that required her expertise, distracting her with inane enquiries or jut plain pointing her entirely the wrong way. What Anora seemed to forget or perhaps conveniently ignore, was that half the men in the castle had fought alongside the warden King when the Darkspawn spilled into Denerim. There were men among them who might not have survived if not for his leadership that day, and he in turn owed them his own debt for their unshakable loyalty upon the field of battle. It was very difficult not to feel loyal to a man who made if perfectly clear that he was willing to risk his own life to save yours…to save an entire country. And it was a bond the Queen would never understand while her fathers death blinded her.

No, whatever Anora's relationship with the palace staff had been like during Cailan's reign it became clear to Zevran that her one woman crusade to make Alistair' life a misery had festered any sympathy or deep down loyalty any of the staff might have felt for her, the guards in particular.

So they made their nervous jokes and bets, diverted the queen at every possible step and watched that closed cell door like hawks every time Alistair disappeared through it. And eventually he caught the furtive glances sliding his way more and more in those empty minutes where nobody was really playing diamond back. They couldn't be bad men, but wasn't he _already_ a bad man?

They laughed because nobody quite dared say the words they all held on their tongues. And then quite suddenly, it wasn't funny any more.

It was now the third day and the elf had already made up his mind that it would be the last day of grace Alistair would get, he would damn well have the man listen to reason, and if that failed he would go ahead and do it anyway. Time was growing short, if more assassins had been sent from Antiva it wouldn't be long before they got here.

Once more he found himself sat at the small table near the door that opened into the cells, surprised to see that the Captain had joined them. Nobody said much beyond a grunt to indicate another card. Once again Alistair swept in, a little of his stubbornness worn down if the tightness in his eyes was anything to go by, though if anything the sight of Zevran seemed to galvanize his resolve a little and the elf would have laughed if it wasn't for the slowly growing sense of unease that was creeping over him. It reminded him of those early days in the camp when he could swear Lelianna's eyes were boring into that sweet spot between his shoulder blades. Only now the arrow was aimed at Alistair's back and Zevran had no idea where it was going to come from. All the while the _idiot_ was preventing him from doing his job for some misguided morality. Morals were all well and good in the right time and place, but most of the time your enemies didn't have the luxury of morals, they just had weapons.

The first indication that something had gone wrong was the sudden shuddering of the cell door. It was made of iron panels sandwiching heavy wood, each one looked like it would take at least three men to lift it. But it shuddered none the less and rattled hinges as thick as the elf's own wrist. All four of them had moved at once, before the door had even stopped shaking, and later the Antivan would realise that perhaps that uneasy feeling had spread beyond himself to the other men until their nerves had twanged like taut steel wires, for they moved just as quickly as he had. Despite his advanced years and the heavy, ostentatious armour, it was the Captain that got their first, crossing the room as quick as a fork of lightening, the door thrown open even before Zevran caught up behind him.

The Captain didn't hang around in the doorway gawking, in fact his momentum didn't seem to slow at all once the door was open, and even Zevran had a second to perhaps admire the man as he didn't even hesitate.

Ever since the first failed interrogation even Alistair didn't protest when the Captain insisted that Valicia be chained for any further visits. The assassin's wrists had been cuffed with strong iron before a chain was looped in a thick iron ring set in the cells floor and attached to each of the cuffs. That chain was now dethatched from the cuffs and digging into the flesh of Alistair's neck while Valicia rode his back, the woman's lips pulled back in a horrible grimace as she exerted every pound of strength she could muster into choking off his air supply. The warden king had been driven to his knees, his face now so red it was painful to look at, and all the while Valicia's knees dug into his spine as she leaned back on her own weight, pulling the chain tighter.

The captain's forearm came up under the assassin's chin before the elf had even stepped into the cell, catching her in a headlock. Zevran and the sergeant each had an arm a moment later and between the three of them they struggled to haul the woman away while Alistair continued to fill the small stone room with ugly choked sounds that were beginning to weaken. His own fingers stopped their useless pulling at her arms and slid into the ragged sleeve of her tunic, skating over a fine boned wrist and pressing in hard. She snarled rather than screamed and her hand convulsed and then lost its grip, the chain falling away from Alistair's neck as the Captain lifted her away bodily his arms now pinning hers while she kicked ineffectually at steel greaves. Alistair was already crawling for the door, gasping and retching every few inches.

The Sergeant and the guard rushed forwards to help him up while the Captain used his bulk to hold the struggling woman in place, Valicia's eyes never leaving her intended quarry even as she struggled against the large man's indomitable grip.

"Take him to the Royal physician immediately!"

"But Sir..she.."

"Your King is injured Sergeant…do as I ask, I am quite capable of securing one prisoner"

The Sergeant looked over his shoulder at his Captain, for a moment looking as though he wanted to press the point, and something slipped through the air between the two men that Zevran wasn't able to decipher, but the man nodded and bore most of Alistair's weight back through the entrance chamber, a few seconds later they heard the door close.

"You won't have long, so whatever you need to do you had best do it now before he recovers fully"

Zevran turned to stare at the man, about to enquire as to what he meant until he saw the hard set of the Captain's eyes. One look in the resolution there and he understood that it wasn't just his own patience that had been wearing thin. He didn't bother asking if the man was sure, the Captain might face worse than simply loosing his position and hadn't made the decision lightly.

"Secure her, I will be but a few minutes"

Time was precious but this had to be done correctly, they needed answers and getting them from Valicia now was going to be even harder than before since she knew that the best she could hope for was an execution. His trip was short, and within 5 minutes he was back in the cell. In his absence the Captain had found enough rope to bind the woman's ankles and wrists, he now stood sentinel over her prone form while she glared poison daggers at her former comrade.

Then her eyes slid down the length of his arm to the axe in his hand.

"Captain, I am thinking that you should now leave"

"I am not squeamish, and I'm aware of what's to be done"

The Antivan sighed, what it was with these people and their Maker damned sense of nobility. "You are a good man, and I say this with little affection, it is simply true. But I think perhaps the extent of your loyalty must end here. This is now a job for a bad man who already has enough stains upon his soul that one more will not upset the balance. You have done your job Captain, it is time for Zevran Arainai to do his, and time for you to be very far away from this room"

Valicia's eyes were flicking between the two men and occasionally the axe, she spat at them from her position on the floor "_Maldito_…traitor! You think this frightens me?"

Calmly Zevran placed the sole of his boot on her throat and exerted just enough pressure to make sure she understood that shutting up could either be voluntary or enforced. All the while he met the Captain's steely gaze, feeling the seconds slip away until the man's eyes finally fell.

"Get the information…by any means necessary"

Zevran didn't moved until the door closed behind him and when he did, he didn't allow himself a chance to think beyond what had to be done. He didn't enjoy this, there was no subconscious joy in what he had to do, no sexual or mental gratification. It was a job that needed doing and one that didn't need a mind full of moral ideals getting in its way. Part of him switched off while the rest simply got down to business.

To make things easier on himself he took the pommel of his dagger to the side of her head with precision, he needed to make preparations and having her unconscious to begin with made them easier. The large table and several crates were pushed up against the door that led out into the palace's courtyard, the Captain wouldn't be able to keep Alistair away from here indefinitely and every second was going to count. More rope was found and cut into separate lengths, these were tied tightly just above the major joint's of both Valicia's arms and legs. He worked quickly and did so without thinking beyond what his hands needed to do.

Taking down one of the torches from their bracket in the wall out in the antechamber, he was finally ready and Valicia would awake to find the Antivan with his knees pressing onto her breastbone, holding one arm out from her prone form while the other was trapped beneath their combined weight. She spat at him and he didn't flinch, even anger wasn't allowed to pry its way in right now, it interfered, complicated things.

"We have no time left for grandstanding Valicia, you feel the ropes, you see the torch, so you know what it is I am about to do to you. All I require is a name"

"Zevran Arainai, lapdog to the Ferelden's. If he whistles do you present him your ass like a bitch mabari?"

No time to think, only to do. His hand tightened about the wooden handle of the axe, just a simple hand axe from the wood basket in the kitchens. It was crude, but it was also sharp. The blade bit into flesh and then hit stone and Zevran bore his weight down as Valicia screamed and bucked underneath him. He ignored her and took up the torch, turning his head away from the stench though even he couldn't ignore the faint sizzling sound.

No time to think.

His grip moved to the rope cinched just above her elbow, the axe readied again. "You have one hand left Valicia. I will be kind enough not to take it unless you force me to draw this out. Give me the name"

"You should have let us kill him Zevran, now you're…as d-dead as he is!"

His only answer came in the form of blade to flesh. The axe was sharp but the blade was small, it took two tries and her screams turned to shrieks when he cauterized the stump just above where the elbow would have been. He had no time to hesitate here, the ropes were tight enough to act as tourniquet's and this combined with the fire slowed her bleeding, but shock would soon set in and if he wasn't mistaken something had just hit the outer door.

"It seems the King is anxious to prevent me from harming you further, but I shall continue to cut until they drag me away Valicia, and I am thinking your use to the Crows will lessen dramatically if you no longer posses limbs. Give me the name"

"Please…you know they will kill me, they will make it last!"

The axe fell with his full strength behind it, and now his hands were red and slippery, forcing him to redouble his grip on the handle. He didn't bother to cauterize this time, he could hear the table and crates shifting even as she shrieked again, now fighting him as he pulled her remaining arm out from beneath her. He had time to register that she was finally afraid yet he still held the axe above her remaining wrist and lifted it as one of the crates outside splintered. "They will kill you, whereas I will simply leave you to live out the rest of your life maimed, and I think we both know which you fear most, you have never had to be helpless before have you Valicia. You can still walk, and I do not doubt you could learn to fight with one arm. Do not force me to amend this, give me the name or I will make sure you spend the rest of your life unable to even feed yourself"

The axe was swung down again and then stopped just inches away from her straining arm when she screamed "Chastain...Aluin Chastain!"

Things happened very quickly after that.

The cell's door slammed open and the elf was hauled away, airborne before he could even drop the axe which he did now mid flight rather than land on it. He hit the wall and was dazed enough that the cell blurred for a while as a lot of people were shouting at once and at cross purposes.

"Who left him in here with her…WHO WAS IT?"

"Your majesty we must.."

"Get her to physician now!"

"Sergeant!"

"Your Majesty you haven't recovered we can take care of this…"

"Get out of my sight, I can't even look at any of you right now…and take these…pieces with you!"

"Sergeant!"

"Not NOW Willard!"

"But Sergeant…"

"I said—"

"SERGEANT….it…it's the Captain Ser…we think one of the assassin's came back, or maybe reinforcements. He's dead Ser, him and two others"

"Your Majesty…"

"Get…get the men together, search the grounds…_now_ Sergeant"

Zevran heard the men leaving while he finally managed to pull himself into a sitting position. He was blinking rapidly, trying to get his eyes to docus when he felt himself being hauled up by the straps of his armour, his feet almost leaving the ground while Alistair glared down at him, those hazel eyes narrowed to furious slits, face flushed with fury. His words came out slowly, as if he were afraid to unleash it all at once, and instead of fear, the Antivan only felt his own anger approaching like a low slung beast.

"I want you out of here. I don't care what you and Loucas have planned. I want you gone by the morning. I don't care about your contacts or your expertise; I won't have a monster doing such unspeakable things in my name. I can barely look at you, what you did was…not even _animals_ do that sort of thing. Maker you cut her to pe-"

"Put…me…down. Now"

He watched the incredulity as this soft yet venomous command interrupted Alistair's angry slew of words, word's that only served to wind his anger up like a spring that he carefully kept in place despite the urge to break the self righteous face that bore down on him with all of its puling wrath. Even more surprisingly he felt his feet flatten on the ground as he was released.

"Aluin Chastain"

Alistair blinked and took a step back, "What?"

"The man who financed your assassin's his name is Aluin Deschain, by the look on your face I am guessing he is not familiar" He was very careful to keep his arms folded now, and very faintly, he could hear a distant battle.

"No. I don't. I would congratulate you on a job well done but frankly you make me sick right now"

His fist struck out before he even realised he was going to do it, and Alistair had no time or warning to stop its momentum before it found its mark on the bridge of his nose. The bigger man staggered sideways until his shoulder fetched up against the cells wall, blood already seeping between fingers as his hands cupped his face, while eyes looked at the elf both with anger and strangely…reproach.

"YOU—"

"ENOUGH. You will have your chance to strip my skin with your words later, perhaps you will think of some more satisfying ones by then, yes? Until then I suggest we go and assist your men, it sounds as if more than one crow has flown into your nest this time" He crossed the cell and snatched a handful of Alistair's tunic, drawing the man's face down to his level.

"But bear in mind _my King_, I do not intend to suffer your righteous indignation without uncovering a few truths of my own" He watched Alistair lower his hands, mouth trembling with the urge to say something else, but the sounds of fighting had grown closer and there just wasn't time. Zevran was full of rage and only half knew why. But he _did_ know that being in a small room with this man while he had weapons was currently a bad combination. Fingers loosened in the tunic and then suddenly tightened again, pulling the human down a little further, just enough for his mouth to bruise against lips that opened in surprise rather than acceptance. This meant very little to the Antivan who plunged his tongue into the open warmth anyway, claiming it with very little care to the other man's desires or protests.

Alistair was pushed away and the elf took several steps back.

"Why did you…why did you do that?"

Hands came to rest upon the familiar bone handles of his daggers, fingers curling around their comforting shape, "Honestly? Because I needed to remind myself of at least one reason not to kill you right now"

He didn't wait for a reply and didn't need one. What he did need was to siphon of some of this anger and drown out the echo of Alistair's words from his mind.

Bursting out into the courtyard he had to duck as an armoured body was hurled past him. The courtyard was overrun with armoured guards and crows alike. Whoever Aluin Deschain was, he must have had pockets deeper than canyons. The Crows had sent a small army.

Daggers slid free of their sheathes. They shone with sharp intent but not half as sharp as the smile that now lifted his lips and made golden eyes gleam.

It was time for bad men to do bad things.

And this time he might even enjoy himself….

**~~~~o0O0o~~~~**

**Army of Crows! Someone so needs to use that as a band name.**

**I'm grinning like a fool here because I'm already itching to start on chapter 5! **


	5. Chapter 5

**Oh boy! Well first of all worry not! I have no intention of abandoning this story. However when I sat down all excited to start chapter 5 I got hit by the big brood-mommy of writers block. It happens to all of us and I probably burnt out my brain doing chapters 1-4 so consistently.**

**Either way, I couldn't write so much as a shopping list which was immensely frustrating when I knew exactly what I wanted to happen in this chapter, I just simply didn't have the brain function to put the words together. As far as my inspiration goes I like Stephen King's analogy in Bag of Bones. He describes the creative process as the writer having a bunch of 'boys in the basement' who did all the heavy lifting when it came to writing. My boys were apparently on strike pending an increase of me allowing my damn brain to have a rest.**

**However a bank holiday weekend and some good music seemed to have put me in just the right mood. I could have bashed it out hamfistedly just to give it to you all a little faster, but I honestly don't want to do that with this story, those of you patiently waiting deserve a little more.**

**Oh on the subject of the music that inspired this chapter please go look these up on youtube, I happily give these bands my seal of approval.**

**Massive Attack – Inertia Creeps**

**Weekend – High for This**

**Teaparty – Psychopomp **_**(Id happily climb the lead singer like a tree)**_

**I hope the wait has been worth it and urge you to be patient if I seem to take some time to complete a chapter. My writing my be considered bad to some people, but it will never be bad on purpose.**

**Your sweet smut-servant**

**G**

**~~~~o0O0o~~~~**

**Rose & Gold**

He was in that waiting dark again, the rich velvet black which stank of malevolence and things birthed in that awful pressing silence, things that sat shrouded and watching with their blood rimmed eyes, while he crouched there, stiff with cold and shaking with fear. He was aware of his nudity in a way that made him feel even more defenceless than he had the last time, as if the thin barrier of clothing could possibly have provided him with some protection here. Afraid as he was, he somehow knew that this was a dream, though such knowing offered little comfort considering his own traitorous imagination. He had expected nightmares after he had crawled out of that fathomless hole just a few years ago, but they had never came, though he had still been awoken disturbed by the dreams of darkspawn. Yet even those dreams hadn't scared him quite as much as the thought of returning to this place even in his own head. He thought that he'd escaped and yet it seemed his mind had an important message to send.

Though still convinced he was dreaming, what little there was to feel, felt real, the gritty rock beneath him, the cold and the ever present sensation of being watched. It made his skin want to crawl away from his bones as he imagined their eyes, some milky blind with death, others livid with fevered life. Alistair never ignored such portents from his own subconscious, a lesson he had learned from Duncan, a Grey Warden's dreams couldn't always be counted upon to be just dreams alone. The dark pressed its silky fingers to his eyes and the warden king waited for his own thoughts to reveal themselves.

A scream scythed through the silence and sent him crawling backwards, vulnerable skin scraping over rock as he put distance between himself and that agonized sound coming from just a few feet away. Light suddenly flared and seared his eyes, forcing him to throw up his grazed arms, but not before he saw the familiar silhouette haloed by the abrupt flame. When the torches afterglow ceased to hurt his eyes he lowered his arms slowly, though he didn't dare look up at the figure for fear of what his mind had constructed. Instead his gaze settled upon the shape huddled on the ground, Valicia's dead eyes staring up at him, unseeing yet still somehow…accusing.

Like the pull of a magnet his eyes were lifted to the bronzed figure who had yet to move, this image of Zevran merely stood there, a glorious figure of bronzed flesh highlighted by the torches flame. Alistair had seen the man nude only once, but apparently this served his memory well enough to conjure such a…visceral image. It spoke to parts of him that had no business being awakened in such a place as this. Still crouching as close to the ground as he could possibly get, Alistair's gaze swept past eyes that were so focused upon him, their weight was almost heavier than the dark and the silence combined. It settled upon that dark skin instead, flickering flames catching the light sheen of sweat coating taut, wiry muscle that faintly trembled with anticipatory energy, like something barely leashed, a shark hiding beneath deep pools of honeyed fire that still watched him in tense silence.

A faint twitch of one arm drew his attention to the axe, clenched tightly in one hand, a hand that wore a glistening, red glove up to its forearm which flexed and tightened under his fleeting scrutiny. He could not help but stare at the curved edge of the axe, as one bead of blood gathered at its end, growing, seeming to swell before it fell to splash in a small puddle at the Antivan's feet.

"Why?"

Perhaps his own mind spoke for him in this place for Alistair made no conscious decision to ask the question, even though it was a perfectly valid one under the circumstances. The elf's voice seemed to swim through the silence slick as an eel, cutting through the air to brush against his ears like the ghost breath of a lover.

"She had many secrets, no? Everybody has a key to such things, for her…" the elf tilted the axe and then rolled his shoulders in that familiar shrug, a gesture that frightened Alistair, perhaps more than the blood because it was so inherent a gesture for the Antivan, making this figment of his dreams all the more real.

"But you my warden King, finding your key is going to be so much more satisfying" The Axe fell and Alistair watched, his gaze riveted while that bloody hand slid its way down along the rigid definition of a perfect upper body. He swallowed with a dry click as the elf's fingers curled with deliberate purpose around his own, half erect shaft, already tugging at the invisible leash that kept his gaze trained upon crimson fingers stroking tempting flesh. Dismay fractured his paralysis when he felt his own flesh stirring and finally he was able to push up from the floor and run.

He was aware that he was running away from the light into that unforgiving dark, but right now he'd rather face the unfathomable than the creature who could make such sadism appealing. As he ran, the sounds of battle split the air around him while figures began to bloom out of the dark, carrying their own phosphorous light as they took up their places like pieces on a chess board. It felt—as in most dreams—that he was trying to run through warm toffee, and yet when he finally came to a wall his momentum carried him into the rough rock hard enough to make his knees buckle.

The figures stood like well made statues, Crows and palace guards alike, all frozen in eternal poses of combat. In the impossible distance, the elf was just a barely discernible silhouette, and yet Alistair could still feel the weight of those eyes. The former Templar blinked and suddenly the distant shape of the Antivan was moving at a pace that spoke of purpose and Alistair's heart gave a sickening lurch as that indistinct figure began to gain definition again. The Frozen warriors glided into place, creating a wall around the king that was familiar enough for him to really despise his own subconscious once more. His men had stood around him like that when their king emerged into the courtyard, unarmed and unprotected. Many of them had fallen to the Crows as they tried to keep up the guarding wall of armoured bodies.

The elf moved in perfect confidence with his surroundings, absolutely certain of his destination and utterly convinced that nothing would stand in his way, certainly not the wall of statues which seemed to waver and fade as he passed through them with unearthly feline grace. If Alistair had any strength in his limbs right now he might have crawled his way up the wall to get away from the intent of the blood streaked apparition. Instead he remained rooted to the spot, mute in voice and will as that living embodiment of violence and his own developing lust poured over him and rode him to the ground.

The rough teeth of the rock dug into his spine as Zevran squirmed into position and strong hands with far more resolve than his own, held wrists at bay while hot blood and hard flesh came together to startle the suppression from Alistair's voice in a single hoarse cry. In one breath it was both too terrible and too wonderful for him to bear and for the first time in this dream he considered the possibility of swimming out of these depths to the sanctuary of waking world.

In the mean time, this dream-like version of the elf seemed determined to find something in his wide, staring eyes while he brutally pushed aside all those normal boundaries the uninitiated human always seemed able to throw up. Alistair felt as though the man was pouring his own essence into him, sensed ghost fingers rifling through his thoughts and he struggled against the torture even as he raised his hips to nudge his aching prick more insistently against the Antivans own fevered flesh.

"Give me your secrets my King, I _know_ I have the correct key", bronzed hips dipped lower and the blood slickened heat threatened to press between firm cheeks for a fraction of a second, enough to make the human gasp and falter in his own ceaseless grinding. In his current state Alistair could decipher nothing about what the elf was saying, secrets and keys, just dream-babbling nonsense that somehow seemed out of tune with the way his body slowly boiled beneath the taut movement of Zevran's. Subconsciously however, he must have known something, for he shook his head in answer to the elf's demand and then screamed as he felt those ghost fingers suddenly clench before tearing into his mind with frustrated abandon.

Symbolic hands flailed and grasped at the empty air, the urge to pull himself away from this pain an instinctual need to survive this dream, the warden now firmly convinced it was all too possible to die here as he felt the Antivan tear through his thoughts, desperately hunting. If this dream had any definable meaning he didn't want to be here long enough to see its conclusion, and so he reached wildly into nothing, fingers clawed in agony.

Warm pressure settled around his wrist, and that warmth seemed to rush along his arm, dousing the fire of his pain, silencing the battle cries of the silent, ghostly statues. In that sudden silence Alistair was ashamed to hear his own quiet sobs, his skin still twitching with the aftermath of the onslaught. Fingers tightened their hold around him and that calm lilting voice rolled out of the silence like a languid feline padding through velvet smoke.

"Perhaps…there might be another way.."

The hand tugged and finally, blessedly Alistair felt himself drifting upwards, his head already tilting skyward as he prepared to leave this permanent dark that sat like a malignant stain within his own mind.

**~~~~o0O0o~~~~**

For a few blessed seconds he was fortunate enough not to remember a damn thing while he broke the surface of sleeps warm waters. It was however, the briefest of reprieves before the nightmare forced a shutter-click of images to drag him unwillingly back up to speed. His head reeled with memory while his body answered with a demanding throb, alerting him to the fact that horrified or not he was still hard as stone. Gritting his teeth he sat up, unsurprised to note that it was still dark, the only illumination being a thick band of moonlight coming from the open balcony. It fell over the bed, creating a silver spotlight over the shivering man sheened in the sweat borne of his arousing nightmare.

Looking down he could barely credit the way the thin sheet clung to him, soaked in the efforts of his frightening dream it outlined every curve and contour, including the rigid sheath of his thick cock. Looking at it only seemed to make him twitch a little more and he watched with detached fascination as his hips rose under his gaze of their own accord.

His body stilled when instinct crawled up his spine with tiny insectile legs, an instinct that informed him he was being watched. Alistair turned his head slowly enough that he fancied he could hear the tendons in his neck creaking. His question withered in the air before it could even leave his lips as he sighted upon the shadow shrouded form sat quite comfortably in one of the armchairs set by the now dying fire. He didn't need to ask who had invaded his chambers, likely knowing even before he'd dared to turn and look. He couldn't see him clearly, but he didn't need to in order to know that the elf's sardonic smirk was there, likely made all the worse by his unwitting display.

Sweaty, aroused and still faintly trembling from the tour in his own subconscious, this was not the best time to have the elf smiling at him like that, though in truth Zevran could have been nonchalantly reading a book and Alistair would have wanted to put a few miles between them right now. The heels of his palms scrubbed at his eyes while fought with his brain for words that would seem appropriate after having someone observe him staring at himself and humping at the air. Strangely enough his brain wasn't too cooperative in supplying him with anything but further reminder that he was hard and aching beneath the clinging sheets.

"Do you even understand the concept of privacy or wasn't that covered in assassin school?" As opening lines went it was cringe worthy but on the spur of the moment—and considering the moment at hand—it was probably the best he was going to do under the circumstances of the elf's golden eyed stare which like his expression, Alistair didn't have to see in order to feel it settling on his damp skin.

"There were many lessons to be learned within the crows, for instance, did you know I could ask you to remove that sheet in at least 3 languages?"

Alistair pressed lips and legs together while shaking his head, his heart lurching in sympathy with its owners discomfort "Marvellous…just…brilliant, I thought I told you to leave"

The Antivan rose from the armchair and Alistair found himself drawing his knees up to his chest in defence of the gesture, hating the fact that this likely made the assassin grin all the harder. "You did. But I am not required to follow your commands in order to keep you alive, therefore I ignored you"

The king lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "Of course you did, and if I decided to have my men remove you?"

The assassin stopped just beside the end of the four poster bed and replied with a raised brow and a tilt of his head, clearly enquiring as to who Alistair thought he was kidding with that question. The elf's presence at the end of his bed was a pointed one that required Zevran to say nothing, he need only to stare at the wardens drawn up form, and allow the expressive intent in his eyes to be read in bold letters. The intent was easy to decipher and caused his skin to crawl again though this time it was an invisible flush that sheathed his flesh in faint heat, just as it occasionally did with his cheeks as the elf's eyes once more won that old battle, Alistair's own dropping to the sheets now tucked in around his folded legs. That heated, crawling sensation drifted way like a breeze borne scent when he felt additional weight settle onto the bed, the cool hand of fear touching on the back of his neck as briefly his minds eye allowed an image of red gloved hands to bloom behind his eyes like a sickened rose.

He found himself gathering his body together tightly, arms wrapping around closed knees as he scooted far enough up the bed for his back to meet the headboard, "I'm not in the mood for your games tonight Zevran, I lost good men today, not to mention what I saw in that cell, I really don't think this is the time"

The silence that followed this declaration could have almost convinced him he was alone in the room if he didn't already know better. He couldn't even hear the other man breathing and eventually, despite what he knew Alistair had to raise his eyes to check that the elf hadn't simply disappeared like dissipated smoke. For a few terrifying seconds he saw the axe and the wet, red hand that gripped it tightly, then he blinked and the elf was merely kneeling there at the foot of the bed, his expression briefly curious before it clouded with something darker, yet not frightening.

It was a look of pure want, a desire that had long since passed the realms of attraction, growing into a hunger that shone quite unabashedly from gold ringed eyes. It was a look that seemed to radiate with heat, and Alistair almost expected the air to shimmer around the assassin like a haze of an aura. Alistair had never been looked at like that in his life though he had seen it often enough in passing to understand his intent. He licked his dry lips and pressed the back of his skull to the headboard, suddenly aware of the erratic way his heart leapt, like a land-bound fish.

"I think this is the perfect time." That appealing voice and its calm, silken words were a fascinating contrast from the violent heat caught in Zevran's eyes, the smile all too welcoming and blue eyes found themselves focusing on the shapes that mouth made. "I think you wish to be alone so that you may flagellate yourself in morbid peace"

Hands crept to the hem of a plain, red tunic, and for the first time Alistair actually registered the fact that the elf was not dressed in his usual armour. He was getting no points for observation right now.

"You would agonize right up to the moment somebody finally earned the bounty so highly placed upon your head if I allowed it"

Distantly Alistair was outraged at such an accusation, partly because he knew it to be true, but mostly because he hated to be read so easily by this man of all people. But outrage was vastly outweighed by fascination that held him paralyzed once more, just as he had been in his dream. Inch after inch of bronzed skin was revealed tantalizingly slow, deliberately displaying, the tunic lifted and thrown to be forgotten, and oh, how easy it was to forget when eyes were drawn to the play of muscles that ridged a flat belly and drew that gaze inevitably downward.

He looked upon the blatant bulge beneath thin leathers and remembered how it had pulsed in his own hand, his fingers even now, curling unconsciously as he thought upon its thickness, the heat of it against his tongue. This was enough for his own flesh to once again remind him that it had awoken rigid and unfulfilled and here was the perfect tonic for such an ailment, all wrapped up in bronzed flesh and undisguised want. 'Little Alistair' might not have been the most intelligent part of his body but it certainly didn't suffer the same agonies of decision as the rest of him.

Zevran's fingers curved over the headboard, his body now caging the larger man's in a trap of flesh that was now only inches away, all Alistair had to do was to reach out and touch. But touching would be breaking a barrier that he had learned to hide behind so effectively, and suddenly the thought of reaching out and touching _this_ man seemed more overwhelming a task than stepping out into the path of the archdemon.

"Zevran...this is about as inappropriate as it gets without involving a Templar costume and a bowl of mashed potato" Humour was as much as shield to him as anger or indignity it seemed, though he wasn't finding this particular situation remotely funny.

Tanned hands slid their way down until they dropped onto his shoulders, warming the skin and bringing his attention to the Antivan as their faces drew level. "Are you not tired of making excuses for yourself my king, does it not hurt your heart to deny yourself, have you not grown weary of the weight of those lies settled upon your shoulders?" Hands now descended to clenched knees and all of a sudden Alistair was inhaling the elf's exotic, natural scent as the man bent to speak quietly into his ear, an act that felt more intimate than the man's bold touch.

"Did you lock yourself away when they placed the crown on your head Alistair, did they demand the key afterwards? Or is it that you still doubt my discretion. Do you still expect the pointing fingers and laughing tongues?"

The word 'key' allowed a cold spike of fear to race along his spine, yet it was thawed by the simple wet touch of a tongue that traced the delicate shell of his ear, the Antivan's breath now a warm spill down the line of his throat, and despite all the common sense in the world, his instinct was to allow the natural tilt to his head, exposing that vulnerable column to waiting lip's that ghosted his skin with the faintest of brushes just below his ear. The effect was akin to a hammer upon an iron anvil, and Alistair found himself trying to control his breath, an effort that was wasted when the assassin took to his throat with all the hunger of the long starved.

That smooth, sardonic voice became laboured with covetous tones as Zevran's mouth slid down the silken arch of skin in a series of heated kisses and snatched bites, his tongue once again stroking the Alistair's pulse. "Do you not tire of watching yourself disappear…do you fear the sensation of being wanted?" As teeth settled around the fluttering bird caged in his throat, his hand was snatched up and thrust between the heat of the Antivan's thighs.

"I can tell you I want you without saying a single word" His hand was left stranded with the heat of Zevran's arousal as strong hands settled on his knees and resolutely pulled them apart, wide enough for the elf to look down and confirm that Alistair's own lusts were still presenting themselves very pointedly. "I am also flattered that you can do the same for me my king"

With an almost adolescent shame, it was Alistair's instinct to pull his hand away and attempt to close his legs under the scrutiny of that gaze, unfamiliar with the weight of Zevran's brand of desire, once again displaying his naivety like a red flag. Zevran seemed determined however and held Alistair's protest at bay, his mouth stealing any words that might have occurred to the human king's stunned brain. Right now the Ferelden felt as though he was surrounded by numbness, and the only thing he was permitted to feel was the half naked heat of a man he probably feared as much as wanted.

And yes, he did want him. This revelation came to him in a somewhat mundane fashion while desire occupied about 80 percent of his attention right now. Perhaps later…almost certainly later, he would allow himself to agonize over it, but right now he was captured by the sensation of his lips yielding and being parted by a skilled tongue that sought to entice his own to follow its lead. Just as it had before, it seemed strangely natural to allow this tutelage. As he allowed himself to be lured into a kiss that became lazy and carefully sensual under the Antivan's guidance, he dimly felt his knee's being pushed wider apart, enough for Zevran's lean hips to brush his thighs before they dipped and rolled, captured flesh pressing against the warden king's own shrouded arousal. His mouth parted wider to permit a low groan that was swallowed by the elf as he took the advantage to plunge his guiding tongue forward, forcing Alistair to open up to him a little more, enough for a kiss that felt as though the man intended to devour him from the mouth down.

Perhaps the assassin's intentions were rather close to just that, for without warning the kiss fell from his mouth as lips found the heaving swell of his chest with the same fevered hunger, as if Zevran dared not let up on his attentions lest he give Alistair time enough to debate his own actions. Alistair's body was all too willing to follow Zevran's lead while his mind did little to interfere, perhaps realizing it would be barking at the wind in this instance. He finally reached out with timid hands to settle upon broad shoulders as the Antivan's body and mouth slid downwards in a seemingly inevitable route, pausing to bite tenderly at exposed stomach, a soothing tongue following in its wake until the elf's sardonic smile hung temptingly over the tented sheet.

Even if he had been able to gather all his senses, they would have been no match for the hot mouth that fell upon his hard flesh and sucked him through the thin cloth. Hesitant fingers curled and dug into hunched shoulders as the Antivans tongue soaked the sheet further and causing Alistair's hips to rise towards that moist heat. The linen provided no real barrier and when lips slipped over the shrouded head Alistair slammed the heel of his hand to his mouth and bit into it to stifle the shout that was ripped out of him. It was all too easy to forget the pleasure, you could picture it and perhaps feel a dim recollection, but it never matched the power of reality. Zevran's mouth managed to capture every ounce of his attention, and when the sheet was finally ripped away to reveal him, solid and leaking steadily he was set on fire when it recaptured him.

Neither his reluctance nor his mistrust of the elf could combat what he was feeling right now, with a willing and obviously attentive partner it was simply his instinct to follow his body and it would later dawn on him that Zevran had come to the same conclusion before he had. Two years had not been enough for Alistair to loose his own impressive physique, and now it was splayed upon the opulent bed, quivering and twisting as his cock was devoured by a resolute mouth that seemed determined to ply its firm lipped intentions without argument.

Panting with the effort of being dragged along for this blissful ride, the warden king dared to look down the line of his supine body, eyes immediately drawn to the way lips stretched around him as the Antivan slid more of him into his mouth, tongue depressed but still a warm, undulating presence at the underside. Hands fell into blonde hair and clenched, unable to help himself as this sight mingled with the sensation of being drawn into a practised throat that clenched around him in a series of desperate swallows. It brought a low keening from lips that fought desperately not to let the sound grow. He was no longer concerned with alerting the assassin to his pleasure, it was rather a moot point given that his body was speaking for him more than adequately. However the guards would patrol the corridors all the more given the recent invasions and self preservation was not an instinct that needed to be questioned.

Given that he had been aroused before he had even awoken, Alistair was not going to last long under such expert and indomitable attentions, and given the way those lips now sucked eagerly along his length, Zevran obviously knew too. He could feel that oncoming rush building and his hands left the soft mass of hair to push weakly at shoulders even as his hips pushed more of his sex into that willing mouth.

"Andraste's fire Zevran…if you keep doing that i….i wont last" the hoarse whisper prompted Zevran to release him from the trap of his mouth, though the reprieve was brief as a hand took over in firm strokes that twisted to brush a rough palm over the thick head.

"_Precioso…_you have suffered much today I think, I would not be so insensitive to imagine once alone would be enough to sufficiently distract you from your usual dose of guilt" His tongue lapped once at the pulsing tip, "Be assured Alistair, I intend to fully delay your guilt complex, if only for a night alone. Perhaps in the morning we may talk of such serious matters" The small and unorthodox lecture seemed to be over, and a smile that was more impish than calculated found moistened lips. "So please, by all means…feel free to experience your release, it shall not be the last"

There was no time to reply before the elf's mouth sealed around him again, and this time it seemed as though Zevran were possessed by the desire to make him go to pieces, and within a few seconds Alistair knew he was going to succeed. When lips slid downwards he responded by lifting his hips, his inexperience no match for the overwhelming heat and agility of the assassins mouth. His flesh was pushed over a gliding tongue over and over again, and the wet suckling sounds that were so damn loud seemed to affect him just as much as their cause. The rapid pace designed to bring him galloping to that precipice overpowered any sense of shame or propriety and soon his hips were pumping up into the Antivan's mouth, hands scrabbling blindly at the headboard above him as the pleasure gathered to one point in his gut until he thought he would burst with it.

He looked down again and it seemed that Zevran's sense of timing was perfect. As he began to swell with the mounting pressure, fingers curled around the base of him, stroking rapidly while lips parted enough to give him an unobstructed view of his cock rubbing along a surging tongue. Hips snapped sharply of their own accord and he witnessed the first thick stream before Zevran's mouth closed again and plunged the warden king into his swallowing throat.

Even the Antivan was momentarily forgotten as Alistair was shoved off that precipice and swallowed whole by pleasure. There was nothing else but sensations that seemed powerful enough to rip through stone walls if you could possibly harness it. It was one of the most uncomplicated sensations in the world, you couldn't fight it, or ignore it, and when it rushed over his skin with a prickly heat he felt every nerve ending respond with a crystalline scream that consumed him.

Only silence seemed to follow, his own slowing breath did not count, there was only silence and the sensation of being alone. It was strong enough to make his eyes fly open as he sat up, like a man who has awakened suddenly from a dream of falling. He was not alone after all, Zevran was once more kneeling on the bed, but the elf was still as the warrior statues that had bloomed from the darkness in his dream. He looked up into to those watching eyes and for a moment he once more saw the frightening creature that had pursued him in his dreams and it was enough to make his heart panic fitfully in his ribcage. Then a breeze moved the curtains by the balcony and the shadows shifted, sliding away from the Antivan's face where the man's apparent satisfaction had fully articulated itself upon his features.

It might have been relief that had him rise up on his knees when the soft command of "Come here" was issued by barely moving lips, even Alistair was painfully aware that he always seemed to want some sort of excuse to do what he really wanted. Irrational behaviour always required a scapegoat if only to soothe his own misgivings. It was the reason he hesitated when hands curved about his waist and pulled him closer, close enough for the warden king to hesitate in lowering his mouth those last few inches to taste the warmth the elf had to offer, for there would be no real scapegoats if it were his initiative that moved things further.

The air trembled with expectant heat between them and Alistair was visited with the notion of how easy it would be to turn away now, because nothing good could come of this, the situation was ridiculous enough that he actually felt shame for allowing himself to be in this precarious position. It was an awful thought to have while his body was still heated with the glorious flush of such a climax, while he felt the weight of Zevran pressed against him. The man was dangerous and capable of truly awful things, and eventually Alistair knew that he would bring far more trouble than he'd been sent to prevent. All these things were wonderfully accurate excuses, but deep down inside it was the little boy he saw most clearly, the little boy who hurled and smashed his mother's pendant upon hearing that he was to be sent away, such a senseless, childish act. Now here he was, and Denerim was just another pendant, his silent eviction from the wardens as bitter as the summons to the chantry, and Zevran already conjured the fractured sound of something precious shattering when he looked at him.

All these thoughts came to him in a matter of seconds, and not a Maker damned one of them made a difference right now. He dipped his head and felt the disjointed tempo of his own heart when he touched upon the surprisingly cool silk of offered lips. Despite an apparent decision being made, everything was still so hesitant. Hands moved to the Antivan's waist, unwilling to wander just yet, though thumbs stroked between the contrast of smooth skin and rough cloth at the man's waistband. His mouth moved in slow nudges and presses that allowed him to slowly sip at the electric sensations that sparked in his belly and stroked phantom gooseflesh at the back of his skull each time lips met.

Alistair's tongue dared to dart between that minute space between them, stroking the soft inner lining of lower lip. His fingers dug into the assassins hips when the man practically purred against his mouth. It turned out that Alistair's hesitation was as fragile as rice paper when it came to hearing such a sound coming from this perilous creature's lips. It was a trigger, a switch that turned off all the little voices that belonged to sense, reason and conscience. He was lost in the warmth of rising breath and the way his tongue was invited into the Antivan's mouth in graceful sweeps. He filled his mouth with the taste of the elf and swallowed it down while his hands sought to map out every muscle that played along a bare back.

He felt hands move between them, knuckles brushing against his cock which remained half erect and still interested enough to twitch at that simple touch. He couldn't bring himself to break away enough to look down what the elf was doing and he didn't need to when the man gripped his rear and pulled them together firmly enough to brush the hard column of the assassins hardon against the hollow of his hip. The muffled groan from lips that sucked at his tongue lavishly, snapped any residue of control Alistair might have had left and fingers curled into the waistband of leathers, tugging them down tanned thighs enough that he could grasp the elf's waist again and turn it enough to press lengths together for the sweetest of frictions that began slowly enough with faint nudges from the hips of both men.

Alistair tore away from that all consuming mouth and released his own hoarse groan. Acting on pure instinct seemed to be working for him right now and any hesitation on his part would certainly break the spell. Letting his head drop slightly to look upon Zevran's own heaving, undulating body, he knew precisely what he wanted to do and allowed his body to react accordingly. The former warden fell to the broad swell of that bronzed chest, mouth fixing on the smooth arch of a pectoral, tongue sampling the faint hint of sweat on skin. He found some fascination with the Antivan's nipples, feeling them swell and tighten beneath his novice tongue. This caused the elf's breath to hitch delightfully with soft sounds and eventually Alistair couldn't help but bear down on them with suckling lips and tugging teeth.

It was those sounds he craved most of all. Whatever else he might say about the Antivan, the man's voice did things no voice had any business doing, and the noises he made while he allowed the young King to explore his body seemed to find a direct route to the human's nervous system, his cock answering with an enthusiastic throb. Feeling the man squirming under his hands as he moved down the line of that exquisite body with the guiding hunger of his mouth, did wonders for his rather abused ego and he was now all the more enthusiastic in his course.

He was finding flesh in random snatches with his teeth when Zevran hissed and gripped the back of his head with both hands. For a moment he froze, thinking that he done something painfully and embarrassingly wrong until he heard the sudden indrawn breath fade into a low, growling moan. He released the soft flesh that dipped between hip and thigh, eyes turning up to a lowered, golden gaze that seemed drugged with pleasure. In the second or two that slipped by he was aware of the solid warmth that touched against one cheek, even more aware of it when a slight shift of the elf's hips caused a faint friction.

"Do that again"

His delight in those three words couldn't be articulated by word or expression, but it was enough for him to dip his head and brush lips tenderly over the secret valley of that dipped flesh. Without thinking about it he palmed the elf's cock lightly enough to feel it twitch when his tongue touched in the wake of his lips moments before he sucked the scant flesh into his mouth. Zevran snarled and dug fingers convulsively into the back of his neck, the sound turning into a low chuckle.

"So new and yet you are already learning to be a tease"

Alistair ignored him for now, sinking his teeth into flesh and feeling the elf buck against him with a short cry. When he allowed the precious skin to slip from his teeth he felt his head being carefully guided, not hard enough for him to want to protest, but insistent upon his course none the less.

Hot and deprived of attention, the tip of Zevran's cock brushed against his lower lip and instinct bid his tongue to lap at the weeping head. For a moment those fingers at the back of his neck tightened again, then they relaxed as he continued to explore the tip in gradually confident sweeps of his eager tongue. He was once again left to his own devices and it seemed he still wished to explore. Lips and tongue worked their way along the shaft, mapping out the rigid muscle, finding the thick vein at the base and suckling on it when it made the elf shiver hard enough for his entire body to convulse with just a simple lick.

A hunger to truly watch the elf loose himself to what he had to offer, the same hunger he suspected Zevran also possessed was too much and his lips soon slid their way back up to envelop the wanton heat of the elf's flesh with a soft groan that Zevran echoed, his body bending inwards for a moment. Alistair was well aware he had no hope of taking the man as deeply as he had been taken, but this seemed to hardly matter as he contented himself with slow, shallow movements that shifted the firm heat in his mouth enough for there to be friction. Hands upon tanned thighs felt the muscle tremble with effort he recognized well, the assassin was restraining himself from pushing his hips forward. Once again he was galvanized, rewarded with that knowledge and he dared to lavish the thick tip with his tongue as his cheeks hollowed, lips becoming a firm and sealing pressure that began to move in slightly longer strokes.

The Antivan was a contrast above him, his upper body writhing and arching with pleasure while his lower body strained against the obvious need to bury itself in that welcoming heat. Alistair found that he loved it and began to work on the elf in earnest. Half of the elf's cock now slid between his lips as he lengthened the strokes of his tensed mouth, pausing occasionally to trace the shape of the tip and taste the sharp, musty tang of precum, another sign of just what he was capable of eliciting when his partner didn't seek to crush him all the way.

Eventually he was able to build a somewhat comfortable rhythm that rocked his head back and forth, lips rasping over engorged flesh and tortured nerves, tongue finding purchase wherever it could until he felt Zevran's resolve crumble a little and faint shifts of taut hips joined his perpetual yet varied motion. The elf moaned for him so beautifully that he became lost in what he was doing until he felt the man withdraw from him, still panting hard but apparently determined to prevent Alistair's mouth from reclaiming him again.

"If you do that any longer I shall not last and I wish to show you something else"

Very carefully, and somewhat confused Alistair allowed himself to be pushed onto his back, captured with the promise of 'something else' and the sight of the elf wriggling out of his boots and the rest of the leathers. Gloriously naked before him, the Antivan straddled his hips and hooked over his discarded leathers without taking golden eyes away from slightly widened blue ones.

On later reflection he would realise just how sure Zevran was of himself when he produced a small vial from one of the pockets. But in the present he was hypnotized by the simple movements involved in uncorking the vial and pouring a viscous liquid into cupped fingers. Those fingers curled around his shaft and he had a moment to realise he was fully hard again when he drowned in the woundrously slick sensation provided by firm strokes of the Antivan's hand

Lengths were briefly ground together again before the circling hand left him to slip between legs parted above him on raised knees. Zevran stroked himself now while fingers still shining with oil, toyed at the tight pucker between cheeks from behind. As shy and easily flustered as he might have been, Alistair simply couldn't take his eyes off the display before him. The elf's body had arched in what had to be an uncomfortable position for him to reach and still offer the human an unobstructed view of those fingers delving into that tight opening. None the less the elf groaned and dimly Alistair was aware of a promise that he would later draw that same sound from the man.

It seemed that once again Zevran could read him better than he might have liked under normal circumstances. He removed his fingers and grasped a hand that had been curled into the disarrayed sheets. Fingers curled around his, sliding and hot between the knuckles, lubricating the digits before they were pushed between thighs. Upon feeling the soft flesh hanging beneath the elf's engorged sex press against his inner wrist, he sat up on one elbow as his fingers were guided to the slickened opening.

"Just here Alistair, do you feel its warmth…" Zevran paused and bit his lip when Alistair twitched his fingers in a delicate stroke against the silken pucker. Watching his expression tighten in pleasure he stroked again, delicately tickling the nerves that lined the tight ring and made the elf shiver. The firm circling pressure he added next seemed to be the last straw and Zevran gasped, "Do it…I am almost ready for you my King"

Like the tug on a leash those words compelled him to bury a finger into that waiting warmth, watching with further fascination as the elf arched his back and bore down on the digit while his fingers continued to stroke and squeeze his flushed shaft.

"More" the elf husked, his body tightening when Alistair answered the request with a second finger. The human could only think of how tight Zevran's body would be around his cock as he felt that clench squeeze his fingers. He had never 'prepared' a man before but he wasn't quite so foolish as to not realize what this was, what it would lead to. His arousal twitched at his hip at the thought, the sensation compounded as the elf rose and fell upon his fingers, demanding movement which he gave in short thrusts to begin with, pushing deeper when parted lips let slip moans that sounded just that little more desperate. Had he sounded like this to the other man? If he did, he could perhaps see why the Antivan was so intent upon his perusal.

Fingers caressed an engorged bump as they pressed as deeply as they could go and the Antivan cried out hoarsely, his body clamping almost viciously around Alistair's stroking fingers. A hand grasped his wrist and he watched Zevran pull his body away from his curled fingers, his laughter half delirious and bearing not trace of unkind cruelty.

Alistair was guided into sitting up on his knees, Zevran still straddling his thighs, now able to bend his head and mouth words against the hot skin of his throat. "As a novice you are breathtaking…Maker knows how you will feel when you know your true potential" Teeth nipped gently at his ear, the Antivan's breath quick and flustered against moist flesh.

"I am ready for you _mi querido…_do you wish to take me?"

Even if Alistair had enough brain cells to decline, his cock was resting between deliberately placed cheeks as the elf lowered himself onto his lap. Still slick with oil he slid against this inviting crevice as he followed the motion of lean hips and rocked against the elf. There was no refusing the offer, just a desire to see the rest of Zevran's unique façade tremble a little.

He wouldn't try to tell himself that he would see all of the elf's secrets in this vulnerable moment, but he felt certain that he might just catch a glimpse of that careful mask he wore cracking. He nodded, his forehead now pressed to the assassins as he whispered

"Yes"

His hips lifting higher to brush slick heat between cheeks he now gripped tightly as he felt the wanton opening twitch against the gently probing tip.

He heard himself release a faint whine of need and felt no shame, he was suddenly to desperate for that, his cock throbbing painfully with the need to bury itself.

"Help me"

Zevran obliged with no teasing and for this he was thankful, or he would be later. For now he was captured by agile fingers reaching behind to curl around him, holding him steady as the elf pushed back slowly.

The resistance he met made it seem impossible that he would fit without hurting the man, but Zevran seemed determined in his motions no matter how slowly he was going. Tight muscles relaxed and there was a brief, intense pressure around the very tip of him before the thick head breached the elf's body. At first he was aware of the heat, almost scalding compared to the delightful warmth of Zevran's mouth and Alistair's nails bit into perfectly rounded flesh as he shuddered against the onslaught of singing nerve endings that made him swell inside that vice like embrace. His thighs trembled with a need he'd seen Zevran struggle with while he had the man against his tongue and he dropped his mouth onto the elf's with a strangled whimper when the Antivan rocked his hips above him.

"Do it…I can feel you shaking with the desire"

A demanding tongue met his own in an instinctual dance before it thrust its way between his lips as if to underline the point. His resistance had already displayed a weak will and it did so again as he gripped taut flesh hard and thrust up quickly until his hips could go no further, and when he was fully sheathed in hot, _gripping_ tightness there wasn't a power in the world that could stop him from riding the elf onto his back in order to push in all the deeper. Hurting Zevran didn't even occur to him, and he needn't have worried. That half delirious laugh mingled with a lustful cry, the Antivan pushing back against the abrupt invasion with a shark's grin of pleasure.

The elf encouraged him, one leg hooking over a shoulder while the other hooked about his waist, a heel digging into the small of his back as Zevran stroked himself slowly, Alistair stilled for a moment by the sight of a thumb circling the leaking tip, then his eyes were drawn by the movement of a quick tongue gliding over kiss bruised lips.

"Follow your instincts Alistair, this is no test. You will not hurt me" He followed these words with a deliberate clench of silken walls which prompted a hiss from clenched teeth and a roll of hips before Alistair slowly drew himself back until he was almost free of the blessed tight cage of the elf's body. He might well have been the one on top here but it was clear to see the elf still guided his hand. When Zevran tightened around him yet again he plunged forward, hard and fast enough to make the elf bury a shout against his neck while his own harsh grunt pushed against a tanned shoulder. Hands mirrored his own and gripped his ass, encouraging him to do that again and Alistair was so Maker damned lost in the elf's hot grip that he could only reply with another thrust that made his whole body thrum like the tightly pulled string of a harp.

Those first, hesitant thrusts did not take long to find a rhythm, his body practically demanded it once he was assured that he wasn't going to damage the man beneath him. Alistair worked himself in and out of the sweat and oil slickened body with movements that steadily became more demanding, feeling the hot muffled breath of Zevran's elated gasps and moans push against his throat, quickening his pulse and encouraging his pace. He had never felt something so gloriously uncomplicated as letting his body take over like this and he buried his own groans in against the elf's shoulder, teeth occasionally taking fitful snatched at the fragrant skin.

He hit something deep inside the assassin and made the elf shudder just as he had when his fingers had found that secret sweet spot, and the buried whisper of "There!" plotted his course as he rocked against that spot with each thrust that jolted Zevran's body with the impact. He felt the Antivan's breath grow quicker against him and nudged the side of the man's head with his own, meeting lips as desperate as his own as he lunged into the supple, yet tight heat he was offered with every answering tilt of the elf's own hips. Soon Zevran was panting and swearing against his searching lips and tongue, writhing beneath him like a captured eel and tightening around him again in those deliberate pulsing waves.

He felt the column of heat against his belly that was the elf's engorged prick and reached between them to grasp it, almost forgetting that he had wanted to see the assassins expression when that mask finally cracked all the way. He stroked the hard flesh to match the tempo of his thrusts and was rewarded with a widening of half lidded eyes and a word in Antivan that he wouldn't dare ask anybody to translate. The deliberate tightening around his pistoning cock suddenly became fitful while Zevran's breath came hard and fast, no longer laughing as his body clamped down in vicious waves around the rampant former Templar. Alistair felt him swell impossibly in the cup of his hand moments before hot liquid spilled over his moving fingers, Zevran having no opportunity to stifle the cry that came with the hard arch of his body.

It was Alistair's turn to be delirious now. The knowledge that he had…fucked the other man into a hard climax, coupled with the vicious clamp of pulsing flesh, drove him into a frenzy of movement designed purely to release the clenched fist of pressure that had gathered in his belly and groin. He growled with effort through clenched teeth and felt the hot roil of sweat run to the small of his back moments before he yet again buried himself as deeply as he possibly could, the motion causing the bed to creak in some form of protest.

He felt himself swell now, seconds before his hips cracked once in a short, sharp slam of hips. He thrust his scream into Zevran's mouth along with his tongue as he spilled into the tight, still faintly pulsing heat of the elf's willing body, every muscle taut with the strain that ripped through his limbs and made his skin quiver as if it had been lightly coated in Lyrium dust.

When the last pulse finally milked the rest of his pleasure he found his strength unsurprisingly, but pleasantly spent and had to roll to his side, instinctively pulling the elf with him as he finally collapsed, not yet willing to break the soft focus that had settled upon this small, private world, and certainly not willing to debate the sensibility of his actions.

The intoxicating afterglow lured his trembling body into relaxing by degrees until he was half dozing against the warm reassuring weight of the smaller man's body. He barely noticed when fifteen minutes later Zevran gently disengaged from their exhausted embrace, only opening his eyes when the elf's weight left the bed.

"Where are you…"

His words were cut off as he sat up, the Antivan's mouth still warm as it reassured him with a firm press before he was pushed back onto the bed, the sheet carelessly tossed over his cooling body. The elf was grinning at him again and this time Alistair could have sworn he saw a hint of something cruel in the elf's fascinating eyes. But if it was there it melted in less than a second and the grin seemed less of a taunt than it had before.

"I am thinking that being found in your bed when the guards arrive for your usual wake up call might cause a few…shall we say, whispers amongst the ranks" His finger twitched back and forth, "It would never do to have wild and salacious rumours circulating in the royal court of Ferelden"

Alistair couldn't have agreed more though he found that he craved just a little more of the man's warmth beside his own, and hoped to the Maker that this feeling was a normal reaction and not one that spoke of feelings he couldn't possibly have for the man. He could feel himself broaching his own conscience again and decided he could quite happily delay that until morning.

"Sleep my king, I shall be watching over you. Tomorrow we shall talk and I think a plan shall be made. No blade shall find your precious throat in the meantime. You are far too much fun for me to fail you now"

For a wonder he found this actually reassured him, if there was one thing he could trust Zevran to do, it was to kill with frightening efficiency. He closed his eyes, aware that he could now hear the elf moving quietly around the room, already drifting before those sounds settled into comfortable silence. He fell asleep feeling that honey-fire gaze settling on his broad back, and fleeing from the knowledge that he had now been complicit in something that had a good chance of backfiring violently, no matter how good it had felt. Moments before his subconscious enveloped him, he inhaled the mingled residual scent of the elf's skin against his own and wondered if he could ever deny himself another taste.

Or was he halfway doomed to want more?

**~~~~o0O0o~~~~**

**Wooooo! You have no idea how good it feels to finally grasp this chapter and yank it from out of my brain…I'm dancing a jig here as I type.**

**Again, I hope it was worth the wait and hope your patience will continue to be forgiving while I get ready for chapter 6!**


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